


The Shadow of Whitechapel

by Erring_and_umming



Category: Being Human (UK), Ripper Street
Genre: Blood and Gore, Complete, Graphic Description of Corpses, shockingly proud of this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25107073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erring_and_umming/pseuds/Erring_and_umming
Summary: Hal Yorke traveled to London from the continent bathed in the blood of innocents, his reign of terror came to a close abruptly and now he is plagued by guilt that leaves him near paralyzed.He returned home, to rediscover his humanity. To pay his penitence again.Adopting the name Albert Flight. It's time for Hal to get to work.(Set after 2.04 of Ripper Street)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the crossover for two old fandoms that no one asked for but I wrote anyway! I was surprised to see Damien Molony in the show (lockdown got me watching a lot of TV) and I thought, woah hey! Hal was alive then. Then this beast was born. 
> 
> I have the whole story written but I'll be rolling them out over the week as I edit the chapters!

“You see, I am not one who is so willing to assume that you are caged by your humanity,” he whispered into the darkness of the air that was thick with the scents of liquor, the musk of sex suffused with the lilting call of blood—small thrills.

The man below him whimpered, small and submissive as he beared down on his throat with his boot. ‘Man’ may not have been the best descriptor—whipped dog would have been more fitting.

“You are a lucky man though Jack. You’ve caught me in one of my more…merciful dispositions and I can be so mercurial. Only years ago, I would have drawn this out, inch by bloody inch until you begged for your whore of a mother.” He smiled all sharp and grimy, “Reid nearly had you as well didn’t he? Nearly blew the whole thing out of the water you did. I told you, I told you so many times. You don’t even know the sort of shit I had to do to keep his nose away.” He sighed, long and suffering and _tired._

“M-my Lord I am sorry I could no—”

“Newly recruited and look at you, snivelling like a child who has lost their favourite toy. So satisfied with your grubby little murders. I have been trying so desperately to be a _good_ man Jack and you’ve come in and ballsed it up for me. You know what I do to people who get in the way on the things that I want?” He hissed, eyes shifting to the dark, fathomless pools that ate the light around them. His mouth tore into the snarl that ripped through the empty alley, leaving the blubbering mess shuddering as if taken by a deathly chill. 

“P-please—”

“Oh, do shut up. Whitechapel will be a safer place for _everyone_ without you around. You must understand that.”

* * *

“Flight!” Reid yelled over the cacophony of the holding cells and the gruff reprimands of the officers. The din battered against his ears and heartbeats fluttered in his mind in a low-level but inescapable hum.

"Yes sir?" he responded, waiting for his superior to weave through the crowd that filled the station. He banished the hypnotic thrum from his mind—with little success.

"May I have a word with you? In my office?" Reid inquired. The man looked weary, shadows hung from his eyes in purple petals and his dress shirt was marred with small creases. It had not escaped Hal’s notice that the man had slept in the rickety cot that was shoved into the corner of his office.

"Of course," Hal said following him past his colleagues. Drake was pulling a bedraggled man into the holding cell with a nod in the inspector’s direction. Hal respected the loyalty the former soldier showed his inspector, it was refreshing in this city filled with the milk of human inequity. Even if he reminded him a little too closely of Fergus.

Reid closed the door to the office behind them, the shouts lulled by that partitions of glass and wood. The shutters hushed as the inspector closed them with a sharp flick of the wrist.

"What can I do for you sir?" He asked, keeping the suspicion that crawled up his throat placated for now.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your undercover work with Evelyn Foley. Exemplary work for one so green," he sat behind his desk gesturing for Flight to do the same, "I know your frustration Flight. I send you to the archive so often and we both know that you don't believe it to be real police work. I was the same when I was your age." Hal started, eyes flicking to the man as he took his seat, a chuckle tickled at his lips that he quelled. His age indeed.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the thought."

"Yes, your ability to lie seems to be an inherent talent. So, it led me down a small rabbit hole of my own personal inquiry. Did they teach you that at Bloomsbury? The art of equivocation?" If Hal had a heart that wasn't so slothful it would have been battering at his chest, "I checked your file you know. It's intriguing it's as if an Albert Flight didn't exist before entering the C.I.D."

A knife wouldn't have been able to pierce the tension between them. Reid was stony and his mouth downturned as if he had tasted something particularly sour.

The cool waters of fear trickled down Hal’s neck, as the two men balanced upon the knife's edge of an accusation, "I was near destitute before Bloomsbury sir. I would expect that my records were not kept...with much care."

Reid softened slightly, as the wind was taken from his bellows, he sagged imperceptibly in his chair, "That seems reasonable Constable. I am sorry, curiosity has always been a foil of mine."

Flight allowed a smile to lay across his lips, demanding of his body to give the appearance of openness, "Of course sir. I understand that you want to know who is working for you. If you have any more questions I would hazard, that in future that the object of these curiosities would perhaps answer you." He made sure his smile was razor sharp, teeth on display.

The animal in Reid did not cogitate the gesture, instead the man’s deep laugh rang through the office as Reid leaned back in his chair, "I'm sure Flight. Now off with you. Work to be done."

"Yes sir."

Flight made sure his traitorous fingers didn’t twitch with his eagerness to leave the cramped office as he stood.

"Oh, and Flight?"

"Sir?"

"I'm glad that bruise healed up quickly."

_Shit._

Hal rushed from the room.

* * *

Months passed them in rivers of cases and blood that flowed down the streets of Whitechapel. Hal became so inwoven with his young Flight persona that he barely knew where he ended, and the young Irish man began.

Nights were spent in the station, golden light flickered across their face and caught in the whiskey glasses that sat upon the table, refracting the honied light across the wall. They shared stories of their arrests and beyond. Jackson told tales of America, the smoke of Chicago and the past-loves of women were soft upon his tongue. Drake spoke little about his travels in service of the Queen's England, the heat of the sun that battered his mind and left him thirsting for his homeland. Reid listened mostly, but whispered about times with his wife, their marriage before tragedy in the warm glow of the afternoon.

Hal just basked, gave titbits of what he knew of Ireland, the mud and the grey, and the rain that ran rivers down the streets. A family appeared from his weaving of words, dead and buried and lost but still so _human_.

They began to trust him, beyond their better judgement, he found himself burrowing into their group, like a parasite. He kept them away from cases corrupted by the supernatural, dispatched the malefactors, and purged the streets of vampires who threatened the peace.

He was exhausted most days, feet dragging upon the flagstones as if weights hung from his back, born of his nightly escapades into the filth laden streets of Whitechapel. The tiredness did little to ease the bloodlust that scratched at his throat with insistent fetid fingers and there was so much blood in Whitechapel, in all its forms.

Christmas was nearing, the cool breath of yule chilled all to the bone and merriment was as scarce as food was. Children scuttled through the street begging and his heartstrings would tug at the sight of their dirty faces. The thirst would tug a little harder.

His coins fell into their hands anyway.

His meditation sessions were getting longer, the heartbeats of his neighbours haunted him through the night and demanded such horrors from him. Memories kept him clean, the dead eyes full of horror and frozen in their last moments kept him safe.

The irony of his position in Whitechapel was not lost on him.

If only Reid knew.

But that day he rushed into the station. Memories of his bloody hedonistic massacre after Budapest had ensnared him in crimson smoke for longer than he had anticipated that morning. His feet skidded and slipped upon the snow-laden ground; the salt laid by the night workers had not cut through the dense frost.

"Flight!" A sharp bark came from behind him and he slipped, landing heavily upon his back to the raucous laughter of the morning pedestrians uncaring for his groan of pain. He stared up into the slate of the sky catching the breath that had escaped him.

He felt a hand wrap around his arm and pick him up off the pavement, "Come on ya daft boy. Inspector wants to see us." It was Drake, the ragged planes of his face came into view even hidden beneath the layers of a ghastly scarf. He cocked his head, "Aren't you cold son?" He asked giving him a cursory glance.

Hal blinked away the black spots that jumped across his vision, "Ah right inspector wants to see us? Let's go then." He rushed ahead, pulling his coat tighter around himself letting a scowl shadow his face for his stupidity. It was the depths of winter and he was dressed as if it were spring. _Idiot._

He could hear the crunch of Drake's boots behind him as the familiar bricks of the station came into view. The steps were slick with dirty melted snow as he climbed them.

It was nearly as bitter inside the station as it was upon the streets, the fire roared but did little to quell the bite of winter. Criminals, it seemed, were not like bears, they did not go into hibernation and so they fought the cold back with clubs. The thought brought a small smirk to Hal's face.

"I found him sir!" Drake called to the inspector, who seemed particularly stoic and drained of colour in the charcoal grey of his suit. He leaned against his desk, a crumpled file in hand.

"Late Flight? That's the second time in as many weeks. Are you alright? You're normally very punctual." Reid asked leaning against his desk, for one with such a frosty exterior the man cared in his own way.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir I misplaced my papers this morning." He replied tearing his hat from his head.

Reid nodded, "Ah, I see well make sure it doesn't happen again. We've got a body in the dead room that is about to reveal to us some secrets about that suspected gang we've been tracking. He was found near the funeral parlour J.W.Hardwicks, which has been the geographic center of a few claims of assault and battery. This, I believe, is more than mere coincidence...this is a pattern. But there is something I would like both of you to see. Come with me."

Reid strode by them with his familiar air for dramatics when a new case piqued his interest. Hal on the other hand felt panic rise like bile in his throat as he followed Drake into the stark white of the dead room.

He had not been near Hardwicks since he had moved back to London. He had, in fact, avoided it like the plague, as he had heard whispers on the words of local werewolves that it was the new center of vampire operations. After Wyndham had abandoned the city for his own flights of fancy. Wyndham was as meticulous with murder as he was with his dress and he had kept the vampires in order. Whoever ruled now must have been a sloppy dresser.

"Morning Flight!" Homer laughed wrenching him from his thoughts, "Had a sleep in did we?" He said clapping him on the back, the familiar scent of soap and ammonia followed the man like a trail, nearly masking the slight scent of blood that hung coyly in the room. Hal's stomach clenched.

"Jackson, stop bothering the boy and tell them what you told me." Reid commanded, inclining his head towards the white sheet that obscured what could only be a body.

Homer twirled back to the table, a grin plastered across his face, “Alright boys, hold onto your hats because this may be one of the strangest cases we’ve come across yet.”

With a flourish, he tore back the sheet to reveal a man in his mid-thirties, completely devoid of injuries except for some blue bruise-blooms upon his wrists. He was pale in his death, the minimal blood on the air already led Hal to suspect exsanguination but the lack of the ruby liquor on the table confirmed it. Thank God for small mercies.

“So…” Drake asked, confusion as clear as day upon his face, “How did the bloke die?”

“It’s hard to exactly pinpoint—”

“That doesn’t sound like you Jackson!” Drake barked.

The smile Homer gave him was wicked with sick glee, “ _Exactly_ Drake I’m at a loss. Look here,” he grasped at the man’s head with the gentleness of a practicing surgeon, tilting his head to the right to reveal two perfect crimson circles upon the man’s neck, “Now what weapon do you think could do that?”

Jackson asked the room, staring up at them. Hal could barely think, he knew the murder weapon as well as he knew the back of his hand. The sight made him nauseous, he had missed someone. Drake scratched his head, unaware of his younger companion’s turmoil, “Dunno, needles maybe?”

“But there would be blood wouldn’t there? But there’s nadda!” Jackson frowned, “Got any suggestions Flight?”

Hal was sure his lips were glued together as he stared at the body, this was too clean to be a random drink, the bite too precise, “Erm possibly some kind of dagger? Hollow?” he said, barely aware of the words that flowed from him, his mind whirred in a whirlwind of panic. Someone had dumped a recruit that much was certain. He did not know a single vampire who would take that much care for someone they only considered a meal.

“But where did all the blood go? There was none at the scene!” Jackson crowed, “There’s only one thing out there that could have done this,” he banged his fingers upon the table in a spoof drum roll, “A vampire!” He chuckled, truly laughed in the face of what should fill him with fear.

“Don’t be absurd,” Reid admonished, stepping forward and peering at the wounds, “There is every possibility that they perpetrator collected the blood somehow.”

“Aye that’s a possibility but so cleanly?” Jackson asked.

“It seems that you want it to be a vampire Jackson,” Hal said, clasping his hands behind his back to stop himself from twitching. He felt sweat gather on his brow as dread wracked him. He would need to get this newly turned vampire out of the station somehow, either in one piece or in a dust bin.

“Of course, I don’t! Obviously, I don’t believe that to be the case. I just think possibly we’ve got something more than just a regular murder going on here. It’s nearly…gentle? There’s bruising on the wrists that are pre-mortem, but they’re patchy which shows some reticence. However, the rest of the body is void of injury and there isn’t much sign of a struggle, and considering the only way this man could have died was from these wounds on his neck that’s a near miracle. It would have been slow; he should have struggled.” Jackson stood back; eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Hal was sure that he wouldn’t have been slow as Jackson said, not if he had the blood sucked out of him. 

“Right well, first step we go and speak to owners the funeral parlour, see if they saw anything last night. It’s a relatively new business so hopefully they’ll be communicating with us. Flight with me.”

Hal jerked, “Sir?”

“I’m not going to get you in the archive every case. Come on, Drake can have a look through the records today, we shan’t be long and then you can stay in the warmth with your books if it please you.” The inspector said brushing lint from his pristine suit. 

Hal’s weighed up his options, eyes flicking to the not-so-corpse on the table. He was large and the blood of his sire would move sluggishly around his body, he could just make out the lethargic beat of his heart, not yet in time with Hal’s own. There was a chance he might be able to get back in time to get rid of him and it was not as if he was given much of a choice. He couldn’t just leave Reid to walk into the nest alone after all.

“Yes sir,” he replied.

Jackson stepped around the table wiping his hands upon his apron, “Mind if I come with, Reid? I want to meet the people who might just be harbouring vampires,” he asked with a sharp knife of a leer.

“Yes, you may Jackson, if only to hear the end of this. Now let us be off. Enjoy Drake.” Reid threw over his shoulder with a smile, as the three of them left the dead room. Hal pretended he did not hear the other man grumble or feel a stone of worry settle in his chest.

The walk was swift, as it ever was when he was in tow with the inspector, he struck an imposing figure as he strode through his streets, parting the people like the sea. Hal made sure to make himself look smaller than the man, to not let any danger seep from beneath the mask when he walked in the daylight hours. Don’t let the rabbits spot the fox in their midst for they would surely run in fear.

Jackson just look jaunty, even in the cold, they hung back and let Reid lead.

“So, Flight tell me. Believe in vampires?” the man asked.

Hal near chocked, “No of course not. A silly superstition.”

“Be real shit not being able to walk around in sunlight after all.” Jackson said, kicking at the snow.

Hal snorted at the man, offering him a cigarette from his case, “Yes and church. Sacred ground and all that.”

“Ah you a religious man? Cause if that’s your biggest concern I’d say your priorities are a bit skewed for this town.” Jackson asked the smell of tobacco swirled on his breath as he leaned into Hal, as if he were speaking secrets.

“No. I’m not religious.”

“Not even Catholic? You’re an Irishman!” He yelled, pulling Hal under his arms as if the need for professionalism was below him entirely.

Hal sighed, Jackson was sometimes just a little too perceptive for his own good, “Common misconception. Not _all_ of the Irish are Catholics.”

“But most are,” Jackson replied, ruffling his hair.

“Yes. Most are.”

“So why not you?” he asked, seriousness seemed to come over him, as if flicking a switch.

“Well, what has God ever done for the world Jackson? Created poverty? Made monsters of men? Doesn’t seem like a god I’m interested in.” Hal said, keeping his eyes to the pavement.

Jackson smiled again, wide and toothy, “Who would have thought it? Flight the philosopher. It’s even got a good ring to it!”

“Philosophy is the way to know one’s path Jackson, ’ _Knowledge forbidden?_ _Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know? Can it be death?’_ It’s—”

“Milton, Paradise Lost,” Reid broke in, turning around, “I didn’t know you had such a handle on the text Flight, for one so young.”

Hal was quite close to kicking himself, “Yes Sir. I’ve had some spare time.”

“Then we will have to give you more work,” Reid said with a smile. It was the closest the man ever seemed to come to joking. Hal made sure to grin in return, “Or possibly we should get Jackson to study it? He seems confused.”

Indeed, the man’s head was swivelling between them as if they had grown extra heads, a scowl crossed his face, “Don’t be giving the man ideas Flight. Where is this place anyway?”

They had come to a crossroads, the smell of sweat and hay suffused the air around them as the people of Whitechapel bustled around them.

“I believe it is just down there,” Hal said pointing to their left.

“Hasn’t even read the file and he knows his way around this place like the back of his hand. Ridiculous it is, I’ve been hear nearly a year longer and I still get lost,” Jackson said in mock reproach, shoving his hands further over his pockets to shield himself from the cold.

Reid studied him a moment, even though the man was much younger than he, Hal was sure the inspector could see right through him as if he were made of glass, “Indeed.” The inspector muttered looking down the street, “We best be off and keep your philosophical mutterings for the station why don’t you?” he said.

Hal swallowed the nerves that threatened to claw their way up his throat, they settled in his stomach and paced instead.

J.W. Hardwicks was a squat little building, black peeling paint looked as if it had been licked quickly across the walls but the gold letter work of the company sign shone proudly above the door.

God vampires had no taste.

It seemed that Reid agreed if the twist of his face was anything to go by.

“I thought you said they were a new company Reid,” Jackson drawled.

“Under new management.” Reid replied, knocking upon the door with three divisive raps.

A sinking feeling gripped Hal, pulling his innards into his shoes as the door creaked open to reveal an unfamiliar doughy face through the crack. New recruit, thank God for the mayflies, at least he wouldn’t know Hal on sight. 

“Hello,” the vampire’s accent was rough, grating like sandpaper, “What can I do for you?”

“Good day, my name is Detective Inspector Reid, this is Homer Jackson and Detective Constable Flight,” the man’s eyebrows rose at Reid’s introduction catching Hal’s stare; he had been spotted, “We were wondering if we could speak to the owner or possibly the manager. Are they in?”

The man’s eyes flicked around the street, “They’re not actually in at the moment. Been called out of town for business,” Hal couldn’t help but roll his eyes, whoever was running this place needed better lackeys. This one it seemed could not even hold a simple lie together, too many jerky movements and fluttering lips—even a child could have spotted it.

“And what was your boss’s name?” Reid asked.

“Jacob sir, Jacob Hardwicks.” The man replied, not moving from the doorway, his body blocked any view of the interior.

“Are you aware sir that there was a body found behind your place of business this morning?” Reid asked.

The man smiled at that, his teeth white against the peeling black paint, “You mean there were bodies at a funeral home?” he asked.

Jackson snorted, “Not like that,” he cut over Reid’s near certain caustic remark, “murdered, blood drained—lots of assaults around this place as well, reports of strangers attacking people. Know anything about that lad?”

The beady eyes of the man met Hal’s questions written across his face, “I hadn’t heard no. To be honest with you gentlemen I just assumed the assaults were just spillin’ out from the public houses down the road,” he pointed further into the street, a few dirty men were splayed across the street the smell of liquor heavy on the air.

“Right, well if your boss returns please send him to the station, we just have a few routine questions. Thank you for your time.” Reid said with a small bow, his face impassive, “Come Flight, Jackson back to the station,” Reid turned and walked down the street, his arms glue to his side and tension rippled across his back.

Hal hastened to follow, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the young vampire who watched them from the door, a scowl like thunder upon his face.

What an idiot, there was no way the inspector was not going to ignore the parlour now.

They turned back onto the main street; the sounds of life bustled around them filling his senses, the smell of cooking meats and the babble of children jostled for space in his mind.

“Well that was a colossal mess around,” Jackson said, perusing a pie stand, “Want some pies gentlemen?”

Reid sighed, rubbing his forehead with his finger and he just nodded. Hunger clawed at Hal’s stomach, so he eagerly grabbed a pie from the portly vendor, wolfing it down quickly.

“Woah slow down kid you’re going to make yourself sick.” Jackson said with a laugh, flakes of pastry spewing from his mouth as he spoke.

Reid watched a small smile playing on his lips, “How long since you’ve eaten Flight?” he asked.

Hal thought on it for a moment, the pie sat in his stomach dully, only abating the hunger minutely, the thirst still scratched like a chronic wound, “I skipped dinner.”

“Ah I see,” Reid said, “Well what do we think about that interview?”

Hal sighed, there was very little point trying to be coy, the two men had noticed the young vampire’s reticence and they would follow the lead like hounds. Best to divert, “It seems like he was being evasive. However, he made a good point about the public houses, they do make that area more likely to have cases of assault. Liquor and man are a bad mix.”

“Says our Irish man who doesn’t even drink.” Jackson said with a smile.

“Quite.” Hal replied tightly.

Jackson took a large bite of his pie, sauce clung to his lip as he spoke, “Well I think they know something. He didn’t invite us in at all which is already strange and the way he was blocking the door tells me he didn’t want us to see what was inside.”

“But my question then remains as to _why?_ They run a funeral home, if they are involved in these assaults what would be the end goal? And further, if they service the people of Whitechapel why would the owner be out of town for business?” Reid questioned.

Hal was sure there was only one answer that he dared not speak, for even the thought of it left him lightheaded and weak at the knees.

“Maybe they’re turning a blind eye to a gang? Not calling the police so they crims have enough time to make a runner. Cleaning up the claret and cashing in? The owner…well I have no answer to that.” Jackson mused, brushing pastry from his waistcoat.

“Possibly, but we will need proof not just speculation. Let’s see what Drake has found out about this business and while we’re at it we’ll check the public houses along the street.” Reid commanded as Leman Street came into view.

The men entered the station, Reid immediately rushed to the archive in search of Drake, leaving Jackson and Hal in the lurch. Jackson seemed deep in thought, his fingers tapping at an unlit cigarette. Hal let him sit in silence, stewing in his own contemplations, making sure he didn’t look too often at the dead room that contained his human-shaped bomb.

“Did you know him?” Jackson asked suddenly causing Hal to jump, “The man at the funeral parlour.”

Hal was sure half of his chest fell out at the man’s words, “No, I didn’t.” he said quickly.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, “He seemed interested in you. Considering you didn’t speak at all.”

“I’m just handsome,” Hal rebutted with a smile.

Jackson guffawed, “Don’t get too cocky Flight. You’re alright, but you’re no Homer Jackson.”

“Oh, and funeral home attendants are your preferred specimens of attention?” Hal quipped, warmth spread through him from his chest, it had been a long time since his last verbal sparring match.

“You’ve got a mouth on you Flight,” Jackson said, “Come on let’s see what the inspector has for us. Then I need to go visit our John Doe in the dead room, see if we can get an ID for him.” 

Jackson dragged him into the office where Drake and Reid were pouring over the business registration index and a large ragged file filled with records of assault. Hal was particularly familiar with both of them, firm friends with the flaking paper he was.

“It seems that either that young man was lying to us or was being wilfully ignorant,” Reid said, running his fingers over the yellowing pages, “The increase of assaults directly correlates to the date of the changing of management of J.W. Hardwicks.”

“Christ,” Hal whispered.

Reid’s head whipped up towards him, “This doesn’t mean that they are involved in the murder per say, but it does mean that they probably know more than they are letting on.”

“So, we need to question the owner?” Drake asked.

“Yes, we need to make sure this Jacob comes into the station and run our man against reports of missing persons. He’s not a street dweller so someone must miss him. It’s possible that if we can find out who this man is, we can understand the motive.”

“Jackson, I want you to go over the body again, check his clothes see if you can find any clues about who made them, or any other evidence that could help us identify him. They seem new so there’s a possibility the maker of the clothes many recognise our man. Flight, go through missing persons from the last two weeks, the clothes are in too good a condition for it to be any longer than that. Keep to the wealthy classes. Alright?”

“Yes sir,” Hal nodded, turning from the office towards his familiar place in the archive.

The day dragged from there, the flicking of pages and ink splatters upon the page consumed him. The ragged handwriting of some beat cop was intensely difficult to decipher, the jagged pen marks kept his mind occupied, quietening the sweetness of blood that pumped through each body that bustled through the station. Eventually, he had a potential list.

He spent much of last moments of light following up dead leads and comforting destressed families. He shuffled through the streets and fended off the bone-deep exhaustion that battered his body. He would not be able to sleep until this mess was cleaned up.

“Any success Flight?” Reid asked as he dragged himself into the station from the dusk. The night watch had taken over and the station was quiet, with neither Drake nor Jackson in sight.

“None sir, maybe this was a man with very few familial connections? Possibly no one to miss him?” Hal asked, stepping into the range of the fire and warming his hands, letting heat seep into him with slow caressing fingers.

“That’s a possibility,” Reid scratched his chin in thought, “Good work today Flight, eliminating possibilities is still a step in the right direction. Get home and warm up. Hopefully we will find something fruitful in our endeavours.”

“All right sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hal murmured, looking towards the quiet dead room, it seemed their John Doe was yet to reawaken. Maybe he was waiting for him—Hal would not disappoint.

“Goodnight Flight.” Reid said in dismissal as he departed into his office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men of Leman Street get closer to the truth of strange murder behind J.W. Hardwicks. Hal fears the repercussions of such a discovery and sets out to deal with the many supernatural fires that ignite before him, threatening his tenuous peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah a second chapter! 
> 
> Editing is a tough slog. Should have the next chapter up by tomorrow! 
> 
> Also I'm surprised that there aren't many crossovers for these two fandoms. 
> 
> ANYWAY! Enjoy.

Hal strolled out onto the street; the sun had retreated into its slumber beneath the earth, but Whitechapel had not quietened. Women in heavy skirts giggled with fluttering eyelashes that blinked coyly from street corners, flush pinched at their cheeks and blood flowed through them like the sweetest of cherry wines. Hal averted his eyes, the swirl of hunger roared in anguish for the loss, caged within his chest it battered at its bars. He daren’t breathe, as he walked to his lodgings to change, to wash away the tribulations of the day, and to start his evening’s flagellations.

His lodgings themselves were pokey and small, mildew draped itself across the roof, but the bed was warm, and the door locked. It was not as lavish as some of the places that he had resided within in past lives, but it was safe and shielded him from the cold. Not that that was entirely necessary.

He washed with haste, sluicing the cold water across his chest and face. He could not bother with dinner, food seemed entirely unnecessary in these moments of tension. So, he dressed, making sure it was more warmly than he had bothered with during the day, if only for the sake of appearances. Opening the battered cupboard that sat in the corner of the flat he removed one of his well worn stakes, the roughness of the wood sent a silent shiver through him. The thought of innocuous power of the weapon always left him rattled. He also grasped for a few rags and shoved them in his pockets. He rushed from the room, locking the door behind him with a clatter.

There was no time to lose. 

Hal kept a good eye on the street as he made his way back to the station, scanning the crowds for wandering stares in his direction. His mind was occupied, endless questions and scenarios flickered in his view, many ending in disasters born of gallons of claret. Phantasmal images of what he may be returning to in the station turned his stomach in both, sick horror and shameful thirst. If the man on the slab had murdered all within the station, there was no guarantee Hal himself could deny the sanguine siren song that the fledgling spilled.

The lifeless eyes of Reid bore into him as the thoughts swelled in the crescendo that caused his feet to carry him faster to the station—with desire or fear he was not sure. He could not allow the man to wake. _You couldn’t not murder what was already dead._ His reasoning was weak, and he knew it, but it was one man or a massacre.

There was no choice.

He skated around the side of the station, seeking the back entrance that would allow him to slip in unnoticed by the skeleton crew. The door was rickety, Reid had mentioned weeks ago a need to fix it, but budgets had been tight, and Hal let out a little sigh, thankful for once for the lack of funds to H Division.

The door opened at the slightest touch; he begged the hinges to silence their screams as he stepped in. The dead room was not far, he tore the rags from his pockets and tied them around his shoes, shushing his footfalls upon the stone beneath him.

His hands shook as he snuck past Reid’s office, no light escaped from under the door and the sound of snores met his ears and he let out a breath. Reid was asleep.

He let himself relax somewhat as he came to the dead room, the smell of ammonia left his nose prickling as he opened the door. The man was twitching in the dark, his fingers and toes spasming as if he were possessed by a fever. It appeared that Hal had arrived just in time.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, and made his way over to the windows, drawing the blinds.

He unsheathed the stake, and listened intently, the man’s heart was stuttering now, the change had nearly come to fruition, the last rattle of his humanity was panicking in his chest, clinging to the life that had been ripped from him.

Pity was a familiar friend to Hal, as it was to all that lived in the streets of Whitechapel, but this wave of pity ripped through him like a scalding blade at the final sounds of life. Had this happened to him all those years ago? Had someone stood above him and watched the humanity leave him? He remembered the pain, the corridor, and the men with sticks and rope that he would never see again.

He walked over to the man; his movements slow as if the room had been filled with treacle. This was not a man, he only wore a man’s shape, he remembered the hours after his own turning, the broken bodies of his fallen comrades, frozen in the snow had still called to him. Unable to control himself he had shattered their frozen skin and drew out their sluggish stale blood like a starving man, their icy memories of life had flowed through his dead veins and spoke of promises of something warm—something alive.

He could not allow it.

He held the stake aloft, taking in the face of the man who was sure to haunt his dreams. The crooked nose, the thin lips, and limp hair. It was a mercy.

Mercy.

There was a wet crunch as the stake embedded itself through the breastbone, the man’s eyes flew open, bright blue and full of unshed tears that immediately plunged into unfathomable shadow. His face contorted into a mask of pain and terror.

“Why?” he whispered.

He was ash before Hal could utter his response.

Silence reigned.

Hal’s breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as each muscle screamed in protest, he needed to move. He forced himself to put stake back in his jacket, his movements were robotic as he fingers spasmed their release of the weapon.

The grey of the ash laid upon the table in a vaguely human shape, he swept the residue into the pipe normally utilised for blood and other bodily fluids. Hal made sure to ignore that little titbit, as he grasped a flask from Jackson’s workbench and filled it with water. He sloshed the cold liquid across the table, making to sure remove that last of the ash that clung to it down the pipe.

Guilt sidled up to him and settled upon his shoulders, purring in its contentment as he checked over his work. Something else to add to his daily meditation routine.

He gathered himself back together and put on his mask, making sure it was nice and human and clean for the streets.

He left without a backward glance.

* * *

His grasp on time was tenuous at best, four hundred years left hours to pass like seconds and the streets of Whitechapel had changed in his absence. The night had completely taken London in its grasp and now the cobbled streets were filled with shadows that menaced, the crash of glass, the yells of men and infrequently—screams.

In times past he would have basked in it, a true follower of Eris, who stalked these streets in her gowns of midnight chaos.

Now, well he had priorities and loyalties that must be maintained. His goddess could wait for him.

He knew the way to J.W. Hardwicks and met no resistance other than a few women of the night offering services in a drunken haze. He did not take up any offers, despite every bone in his body begging him to do so, down to his very marrow the sing of their lifeblood called to him. He locked his jaw, his fangs pressed against his lips, sliding from his gums easily, he swallowed reflectively, panic rising like a tide.

There was no time for this, the world wavered and spun, crimson seeped into his vision, warring at the edges in little veins of temptation. He dragged himself into an alley, throwing himself to the ground with a groan, people passed him uncaring as he brought his head into his hands, tremors wracked his body, his muscles spasmed, each bone wanted to cave into the heady call. He kept himself up against the rough surface of the crumbling bricks at his back, pressing himself into them to the point of pain.

He focussed, upon Sylvie’s face in his mind, the soft curl of her auburn hair and the slight upturn of her nose and the calm pools of her eyes. It had been near ninety years since he had seen her last and each year was another cut upon his conscience.

Evelyn had been so much like her, the same hair and the same wit but Evelyn was harsher, beaten down by the hand that fate had given her. He wasn’t sure what he had felt for the girl, but her tragedy was similar to his in some ways. They were both alone in the world, parentless and rudderless in the tidal pull of life around them. He held her face in his mind, he had been so close in that room of hers, the pull of her blood had whispered to him and the other man had nearly risen to greet her, but Hal had beaten him off. He could do it again.

Gritting his teeth, he stood, dug his palms into his eyes, and blinked away the shadows that threatened to take over. Living in the middle a city full of humans at that moment seemed to present itself as a terrible place to go clean. But there was justice to be done and humans to protect if he could—it was penitence. Temptation was the purest of tortures and he deserved nothing less than its bittersweet denial.

Staggering from the alley he kept his head down, not daring to look at the humans that waltzed their nightly dance around him. The parlour was not far, he could make it. He was in control; the body was his tonight.

Hardwicks swam before him as the gold letters glittered under the streetlamps. Warm golden light splayed out from under the door like fingers and the murmur of voices reached his ears, tickling his senses.

He knocked, straightening himself out, and made sure a new mask slid into place, he was Lord Harry tonight. A force, a terrible curse upon them if they did not listen to his decrees.

The door swung open, “Oh it’s you.” It was the same young vampire from earlier in the day, his face clouded with suspicion, “What do you want?”

“Tell your boss that Hal Yorke is here to see him.” It was not a question, he smiled but it did not reach his eyes. He dropped the Irish accent and slipped into the familiar skin of brutality. 

The youth started, bobbing his head he pivoted on his heel, disappearing back into the building without a backward glance. That one would not last, but then subordinates rarely did.

There was a clatter from inside the building, the shattering tinkle of glass and the murmuring voices hushed with a swear from the inside. Hal smirked, at least there was still some of the old respect running through these cities.

“Hal bloody Yorke!” the door swung open and before him was the sight he had feared he would see. Jacob Marr stood, cutting the warm golden light that spilled from behind him with his dark figure. Jacob seemed to be more a raven that a man, his hair was a long ink splatter, with a nose that hooked down to his thin lips. If anyone read as a vampire, it was this man.

“Jacob Marr, running London.” Hal made sure his words were cold.

“Indeed. Come inside! Have a drink.” Jacob said, stepping aside to allow Hal to enter parlour.

It was a utilitarian building, bare for it did not serve the purpose that it purported upon the sign. Within the room there sat about fifteen vampires, all newly turned by the way they guzzled at their cups, drinking what seemed to be whiskey and blood around a polished wooden table. Hal felt the hunger roar in his ears, shuddering through his body with every waft of the ruby liquid. He clenched his fists.

“Men!” Jacob said, “This is Lord Harry Yorke, an Old One and a friend of mine. Make a space for him,” he commanded, much to Hal’s chagrin, _friend_ was not a word he would you for the arrogant arse before him.

“It’s quite alright Jacob, I’m sorry to say this is not a social visit. I came by this morning actually and met one in your employ.” Hal said, throwing his voice so all could hear.

The look of surprise flickered across Jacob’s face like a shadow, “That was _you?_ My man told me they had a vampire with them, but I had no idea…”

“Yes well. _Someone_ needs to be dealing with some extensive leaks that have cropped up in this area and it doesn’t seem to be you or your men,” Hal said, glaring at the man, “Now I would be happy to have this discussion in private or would you like me to embarrass you in front of your men?”

Jacob glanced around the room and turned to Hal, his face stony, “Let us go to the office.”

He marched off, taking Hal further into the decrepit building, a few coffins lined the walls and he could distantly hear fluttering heartbeats, it seemed they were keeping a supply somewhere nearby.

The office that they walked into was small, littered with papered and scrolls that gathered dusk, Jacob had never been one for reading. A small window looked out on the empty back alley; a small crack of the window was open, letting in the cool night’s breath.

“So, are you here to take your rightful place, my Lord?” Jacob asked with a sneer, it seemed that he wanted to do away with masks of civility for this conversation.

Hal did not rise to it, “No Jacob. This is your town and I would not take it from you. However, I would ask for more subtly, I had to dispatch a recruit that was left in the _streets_ and brought to the police. Imagine the chaos that could have caused.”

Jacob smiled, “Ah that…well that is a shame. He had potential.” A sigh shushed through his lips, but the feeling did not move any of the muscles around the two hard coals of his eyes.

“You evade my request Jacob.” Hal hissed, the shadows around him quivered as the candlelight in the office wavered.

“Well the way I see it, Hal...humans have had their run of the place for too long. Think of your man in the police office as a…warning to them, a bomb dismantled by you. A singular bright light to bring us out of the shadows that was smothered by your hand,” Jacob said scathingly.

“You plan on letting them know of the existence of vampires?” Hal asked, his words stilted with shock, “You were created during the height of the Reformation Jacob! Are you mad?”

The smile that crept across Jacob’s face said it all, “Madness is relative is it not Henry? I would be quite sane to some compared to others.”

Hal bristled at the barb, setting his jaw, “And have you spoken to Mr. Snow about this?”

Jacob laughed, high and tight like a bowstring, “You would call upon Snow? Of course, he doesn’t know, watching the world from his tower of bones. I doubt it. But I also doubt he would care, as long as it caused chaos. Do you plan on telling him?”

Hal shook, fear now lancing through him, the revelation of the supernatural would only end in deaths and war, “I could.”

The vampire before him just grinned, sitting in his chair behind the desk, he swung his feet up upon the table, “I remember the last time you did that. In one of your _good_ periods. Because that’s what this is Hal? Isn’t it? Your little cycle of penitence.

“You have no power here. Lord Hal Yorke is the man I respect, but you are nothing to me like this. What did he do to you last time he came across you in one of your lapses? It was quite the spectacle if I remember correctly. He drained you, the torture of a thousand cuts, all before us of course. Then the girls and then the fights. Oh, how the dogs had howled that night. How did you survive that Hal? How did any mercy live after that? Do you want to risk it again?”

Horror shot through Hal like a lance, crushing any retort that he would have uttered as the deeply buried memory surfaced from the dark pit of his mind like a drowned man.

“Now,” Jacob continued, “I would recommend you leave, there is nothing you can do. Run back to your little police friends and let me know when you revert. Then we shall talk.”

“This is not the last time you’ll see me, Jacob.”

“No, I expect it won’t be. Goodbye Constable Flight.” He said. 

Hal left, a need to reassess and calm himself took over any logic. He rushed past the watching vampires and out onto the streets that cawed with life once more. People were sprawled upon the streets, flowing from the drinking dens and brothels—a vampire’s paradise.

_Christ._

He went home.

* * *

Hal was sure that his slumbering hours were conspiring to kill him. They were filled with memories of Snow and Jacob, stretching and twisting into horrid beasts with masticating jaws that feasted upon his flesh that swiftly degraded to offal, so fetid it could not act as carrion for vultures.

His meditation was difficult that morning, overtaken by Sylvie upon their bed, sprawled across the sheets in mockery of Aphrodite, her throat a mess of tendons and trachea. Her ghost watched on as he laid with her corpse and smiled like their wedding day all over again. He had ignored her when she had called to him, ignored her when she had caressed him, and ignored her when she stepped through the glowing door.

He punched his wall.

It hurt.

He didn’t care.

The station called him once again and he could not deny his atonement in all his bastardised attempts to scrub himself clean. To serve humanity instead of tear it down corpse by corpse.

The streets were quiet, he was early, in an attempt to make up for his previous tardiness. Fog clung to the cobbles as the city awoke from its slumber, the white clouds swirled around him as he walked. 

“Oi!” Hal heard the familiar voice and swung around, staring at the colourful figure who emerged from the fog, “Flight got a moment?”

Jackson stood before him, looking as tired as he felt, dark shadows were cut into his eye sockets.

“Morning Jackson. Busy night?” Hal asked politely, taking a drag from his cigarette that warmed his chest.

“Not as busy as yours I imagine,” Jackson said, his voice low, he looked at Hal as if he knew. 

Hal swallowed thickly, “No, I stayed home most of the night.”

“So, I didn’t see you walk into Hardwicks?” Jackson asked. Ah, he did know.

“You were _following me_?” Hal hissed and stopped in his tracks.

“Come on we need to talk,” Jackson said gruffly, grabbing him by the arm tightly as he pulled him into an ally. Hal let him and instead fought off the instinct to wrench himself from the man’s grip.

The alley was devoid of people, smelling faintly of beer and piss. Jackson released him and leaned against the wall looking pained, “What were you doing in Hardwicks?”

Hal sighed and smothered his annoyance at the man, “I was doing some recon, watching them to see if they were doing anything suspicious. Don’t worry I kept myself hidden,” the lies flowed easily from him as sweet as molasses, “But why were you following me, Jackson?”

The man looked abashed, “You looked twitchy yesterday, as if you knew something we didn’t. Call it a surgeon’s intuition.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Hal said with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re right. It doesn’t. Now tell me, if you were watching them what did you learn?” Jackson asked, rolling his own cigarette. Hal observed him; the man was feigning relaxation but the tension across his shoulders spoke volumes of where the conversation was headed.

“Nothing of any note.” Hal hedged, leaning against the opposing wall.

Jackson smiled without mirth, “I think, you think you’re a better liar than you are Flight.”

Hal reflected the American’s smile, “I don’t think I know what you’re implying Jackson.”

“Who is Mr. Snow?”

Hal seized at that moment, his muscles clenched in excruciating spasms, and he was upon the man. He drove his arm into Jackson’s throat, using his other hand to capture the man’s flailing limbs, his cigarette laid upon the ground forgotten, “So you were listening?” Hal hissed as tears sprung into Jackson’s eyes, he struggled to breathe under Hal’s weight and his face turned a particularly bright shade of alluring crimson, “What did you hear?”

“F-Flight I-I can’t—” Hal released him, his breath coming hard as the taller man slumped to the ground, “W-what the hell Flight.”

“What did you hear?!” he roared; Jackson’s blood rushed in his ears, his heartbeat running a staccato in his mind. Hal’s delicate control was slipping, and the mask was cracking under the tempest of his fury. He forced himself to take a calming breath, the cool air rushed down his throat like flames as the rage settled slightly to a simmer.

“I-I came to the window, but I only heard the man—Jacob, mention Snow and then the conversation afterwards until you left. I-I followed you after you…in the alley I saw you in the alley. I thought you were having a breakdown or something. So, I waited outside but you were gone for so long I…” Jackson said rubbing his throat.

Hal sagged against the wall, “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Jackson breathed, “Well at least I believe you’re not a Catholic anymore. Whatever that Snow did to you would have shot anyone’s belief in God clean dead.”

“Don’t say his name, just don’t Jackson,” Hal shot back at him.

“What name should I use then Hal?” he asked answered only with Hal’s groan.

“Don’t use that either,” Hal said, grinding the back of his head into the bricks, closing his eyes. This was a nightmare.

“Jesus what have you gotten yourself into boy?” Jackson asked him.

“I should be asking you the same question.” Hal whispered.

Jackson shrugged, uncomprehending of the seriousness of the situation, “Were you really a Lord?”

Hal smirked at that, “Not in the traditional sense.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “Mysterious too. Are you going to tell the Inspector about Jacob?”

“Are you?” Hal countered.

Jackson stared at him, “We’ve all got out secrets Flight. I won’t tell him about this, but he could help you. With…whatever this is.” he said with a wave of his hand.

“And what do you think this is?” Hal asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I dunno Flight. It seems to me that you’ve run from something big and you know what these people are doing or what they’re going to do. I don’t know why you haven’t said but I _also_ know that you are a good man and that you wouldn’t be so…obtuse without reason. Is it drugs or something?” he asked, “It would explain your little attack the alley.”

Hal was warmed by the admission, some unbroken part shone at the thought of Jackson thinking him good. He tried to keep the smile from his face, “It’s not drugs exactly, Jackson but you’re right. I ran and I thought I could…I was ignorant in my belief. I cannot run but I also cannot let you get involved.”

“I think you’ll find that we’re already involved,” Jackson shot back.

Hal grunted at the truth of Jackson’s words, “I fear you are correct and thus I fear the repercussions.”

“But you won’t tell me what is actually going on?” Jackson pushed.

“I cannot.”

“Will not.”

“No. I cannot.” Hal replied.

“There is no such thing as ‘cannot’ in this world lad.” Jackson said as he lit another cigarette, as if the assault upon his person had not happened at all.

“I have seen much of the world Jackson, I think you will find that there is,” Hal said and pulled himself off the wall. The streets had become increasingly busy throughout their conversation and he cast a wary glance into the crowd.

“Then it seems you still have some things to learn then Flight,” Jackson said with a smile, “Come, we’re needed at the station.”

The two walked in tense silence to Leman Street. Hal felt like he was walking upon a tightrope, one misplaced syllable could lead to his downfall into the pits of his wine-dark oblivion. He did not want to lose his position at Whitechapel, the routine, the chase, the hunt kept the beast within its fragile cage.

Upon sighting the squat building there was obviously something amiss, the police set on guard were tenser than usual, their mouths drawn into harsh lines.

“Something’s up,” Jackson said as they ascended the stairs, Hal nodded in agreement already half sure what the issue could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm! Jackson knows something but not *everything*!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Hal's actions come to fruition and all his efforts to ingratiate himself into life at the station threatens to crumble around him as an old friend comes to visit.

The two men walked through the doors and deathly silence met them; Hal was sure he had never experienced such all-consuming cotton-soft quiet within the station. The uniformed men looked cowed, moving with the efficiency of worker bees through the hive, while neither Reid nor Drake were anywhere to be seen.

Jackson rushed up to Artherton at the desk that dominated the entranceway of the station, “What’s going on?”

“Someone took the body.” Artherton said, his ginger beard quivering, “The inspector’s in his office. He’s in a right rage so I’d just…tread lightly.”

“Thanks, Artherton,” Jackson said, turning to Hal he inclined his head towards Reid’s office, “Let’s go figure this out huh?”

Hal nodded and the two strode into the office, the door was wide open, revealing Reid with his head in his hands at the desk and Drake leaning against the wall with a scowl across his face. Hal’s stomach twitched with guilt; it was not the first time he had destroyed evidence, but this was the first time he had snatched it from beneath Reid’s nose.

“Heard the news?” Drake asked.

“Yeah, Artherton told us.” Jackson muttered; his eyebrows knitted together.

“But _how_?” Reid asked, “How could the night shift let this happen? And how did I not hear them? I was here. If they came through the back, they went past my _office_!” The veins upon his forehead pulsed like worms, blood rushing to his face in his rage. Hal swallowed the saliva that coated his tongue at the sight, averting his eyes from the ruby compulsion that grated against his gums.

“It seems impossible.” Hal added as Jackson shot him a harsh look. 

“It’s just as likely the man got up and walked out of here.” Jackson scoffed.

Drake pushed himself from the wall and sat, “Then how do we explain it?”

“We don’t.” Reid said through gritted teeth, “We find evidence and let the evidence explain something that _logic_ can’t explain at this moment in time,” he coughed and pulled his head up to face them, “Did you find out where the man’s clothes were from Jackson?”

Jackson looked startled for a moment, “Yes, I traced the pattern back to a tailor called Mitchell Sawyer, he was to come down today to identify the body, however…”

“We will get a composite sketch of the man done and see if that will help,” Reid said, “Drake get that organised.”

“Yes sir,” the man said, yawning as he pulled himself out of his chair and headed out of the room. Hal wondered vaguely if Drake was to do the sketch or find someone to do it. Did the man have a secret talent?

“Sir!” Artherton poked his head into the office gingerly.

“Yes, Artherton what is it?”

“A mister Jacob Hardwicks is here to speak to you,” he said, inclining his head towards the entrance. Jackson shot Hal a panicked look, eyebrows pinched together, Hal shrugged imperceptibly in reply.

“Alright, give me one moment and I will come to speak to him,” replied the inspector with a grimace.

“Very good sir,” the ginger man disappeared from their midst.

“Jackson, I want you to scour that dead room for any evidence, leave no stone unturned.” Reid said, “Flight with me. Time to learn some interviewing skills I believe.”

Hal dipped his head in agreeance and hoped that his rushed cleaning job would be good enough to stand Jackson’s critical eye. Reid stood with a swift jerkiness and gestured for Hal to follow him with a wave. Jackson trailed after them and headed to the dead room with a wave of his hand in a show of a jaunty disposition despite the worry upon his brow.

Jacob was waiting near the holding cell, sitting next to a crying mother and her child with a look of disdain smeared clearly across his face like grease. His long hair was braided down his back and he was garbed in black, his delicate bony hands crossed over one another on his lap. Hal raised his eyebrow at the vampire’s lack of subtly but then again Jacob had never cared for such things.

“Mr Hardwicks?”

“Inspector Reid, call me Jacob. Sorry for not being around yesterday, I had urgent business out of the city.” He said standing from his position with unnatural smoothness.

“No trouble at all, I’m glad you’ve come to speak to me this morning Jacob.” Reid said, turning to Hal he said, “This is my Detective Constable Albert Flight.”

Jacob smiled his teeth gleaming dangerously, “I’ve heard a lot about your new Constable, word travels very fast on these streets but then so does justice and the lad seems to take _more_ than enough initiative.”

“Well that is what we look for in our new recruits, but he still appears to have time for literature. Quoted Paradise Lost to me the other day.” Reid said with a smile clapping Hal on the back.

“Ah yes, I’m sure young Flight has all the time in the world.” Jacob replied, and Hal bristled at the barb.

“Should we continue this conversation in my office Jacob?” the inspector asked.

“Most certainly.” Jacob said with a voice of oil and smoke as he smiled in a wicked effigy.

They returned to the office, Jacob in toe, following them like a shadow and he sat in the chair in front of the desk before Reid had bade him to. Hal couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the vampire’s attempt at subtle displays of power, only children bothered with such trifles. Hal thought he caught a frown upon Reid’s face, but it was gone before he could catch it as the inspector sat. Hal stood where Drake had only moments ago, in between the men to watch them spar.

Jacob seemed calm, his legs were folded over one another and he seemed near jolly as he swayed his finger to an invisible beat, “So tell me inspector what is this about exactly?” he asked.

“Well, I am sure that you have heard that a body was found behind your business yesterday morning?” Reid asked, steepling his fingers.

“Yes, I did, poor man.” Jacob replied, the smile did not fall from his face for a moment. Reid did not seem perturbed by such a display of blatant apathy and Hal wished that the man could understand the danger that sat before him in black silks.

“Well, I was wondering why neither you nor your men came to the police? He was found by a passer-by.” 

“Ah well, it _was_ the morning and we were not open at the time.” Jacob said.

“He was found after your opening hours Mr. Hardwicks.” Reid said sharply.

Jacobs's fingers stopped twitching for a moment and a shadow flickered across his face, “And what do you think you are implying Mr. Reid?”

“I imply nothing Jacob, I just state the facts. Did you know that since your overtaking of Hardwicks there has been an increase of reports of assaults upon your street and surrounds? Any ideas about why that could be?” Reid leaned forward, scanning the vampire’s face as Jacob squirmed in his seat.

Despite his humanity, Reid could be cruel in his hound-like focus and Hal coloured himself impressed with a small smile, the tables were turning.

“I did not, however, I don’t understand how that could be relevant—”

“Again, I just state the facts. So, I ask again, do you have any idea why you did not call upon the police?”

“There is nothing to tell inspector. I did not know the body was there. End of story.” Jacob seethed, his control slipping under the detective’s questioning.

Reid just smiled, “Of course, of course. And may I ask who ran Hardwicks before you?”

“My brother Wyndham,” Jacob responded, Hal’s jaw nearly hung open as Reid noted down the name. There was no chance that Wyndham would be on file, it was like the vampire was begging to be arrested.

“Excellent and the day before the murder did you notice anything suspicious?” Reid asked.

“I was out of town as I said.” Jacob said with a sneer.

“Ah yes, out of town and what were you doing out of town Mr. Hardwicks?”

“I was visiting a business associate.”

“Name?”

“Hal Yorke.” Hal started, staring at the grease stain of a vampire who smiled on as Reid noted the name. _Christ._

“Lastly, I am embarrassed to admit this to someone outside of the case but…our John Doe—the body, disappeared in the night. You’d have some expertise in the area. Any idea how that could have happened? How someone might have done it?”

“Disappeared? Like smoke on the breeze?” Jacob’s eyes flicked over to Hal who kept his firmly trained on Reid, ignoring the vampire’s gaze. Reid however, looked between Jacob and Hal his eyebrows raised. 

“Yes indeed.”  
“I’m not sure inspector. Seems unlikely that anything would be able to get past you.” Jacob said with a sigh, “Is that all?”

“That’s all Mr. Hardwicks. Thank you for your time.” Reid said with a nod.

“Good day. I hope to see you both under better circumstances.” Jacob demurred standing with slow languid movements, he paused at the door, “Do come to my door if you have any other questions.”

“Of course.” Reid said and the vampire was gone in a flourish of black fabric.

Hal was unsure whether he had to speak, words battered at the tip of his tongue but were quashed by Reid’s hands that slammed down upon the desk with a clap like thunder, “He did it!”

Hal jumped, eyes bugging from his skull, “What sir?”

“Or at least he knows more than he’s letting on. Every word out of that man’s mouth was a lie.”

“Surely sir.” Hal murmured, tapping his fingers against his palm.

“Did you notice how he didn’t ask what happened to the man? Normally people ask. He knew, he _knew_ what happened. But I don’t understand _why.”_ Reid queried, rubbing his temple with his knuckles.

“Does there have to be a reason?” Hal inquired, “Are some men not monsters?”

“Quite right Flight.” Reid nodded, “I want you to check those names in our records. Especially Hal Yorke, who I expect doesn’t exist. That will give us enough evidence to search the premises.”

His own name seemed foreign upon the inspector’s tongue and unease ran through his body at the sound. He knew that nothing would come of this check, “Yes sir. Right away.”

Hal pulled himself from the wall walking towards the door Reid coughed, “Oh and Flight.”

“Yes sir?”

“Did you know him? He seemed rather interested in you.”

“Never seen him before in my life.”

“Alright. Off you go then.”

Hal didn’t take an easy breath until he was safely in the archive.

* * *

Hal dragged his feet, wishing the day was at its ends so he could rest his head for just a moment. Morpheus himself was trying to drag him under as he stared at the looping scrawl before him. Wyndham, he discovered actually had registered under _Wyndham Hardwick._ However, there was obviously not a single Hal Yorke listed as an associate to the funeral parlour.

Hal swore to every god he knew and a few he didn’t as he slammed the books shut. Jacob really was planning on pulling them all into the light, himself included. If they searched the funeral parlour there was very little chance of his friends getting out of there alive on their own. Although, to go along would lead to his own inevitable exposure. While he had been in such positions before, never had he been so invested in holding onto his quasi-humanity with both hands.

But if he were to be human, to truly bask in its warm glow, sacrifice was essential in these moments. Despite his fear and despite their inevitable disgust, he would stop Jacob—one way or another.

Mind made up he exited with books in hand and marched back into the thrumming den of temptation that was his workplace.

“Inspector!” he called out over the rush, Reid was with Drake and a well-dressed looking man who was pouring over a piece of paper.

“Come Flight.” Reid said calling him over.

“This is Mitchell Swayer, he has just identified our man as one Farris Conway, a local council member.” Drake said with a nod towards the smaller man with a perfectly manicured moustache.

Shit. Hal balked, eyes growing wide, “A councilman?”

“Yes indeed. I am shocked none here recognised him.” Reid said gravely, “Thank you Mr. Sawyer for your time.” The small man nodded graciously, and with a swish of heavily patterned silk made his way to the exit.

“This wasn’t just a murder, was it? This was strategy.” Hal said, near gasping. Jacob was going to put a new recruit on the council, but to what purpose?

Reid’s near-perpetual frown deepened, the creases in his face darkening, “No this looks like it was a hit but why? Let’s check with Jackson, then we need to bring our information together.”

“Yes sir.”

The three men walked briskly to the dead room, to find Jackson peering into the pipe in the table, magnifying glassing balancing precariously upon his nose. It would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“Alright, Jackson what have you got for us?” Reid inquired, stepping into the room with all the confidence of an investigatory roll.

Jackson’s head shot up, brown eyes bugging out of his head, “Yes, not much but I have something!” he said, grasping a shining scalpel from his belt he scratched the inside of the pipe. The sound of metal on metal rang in Hal’s ears, causing him to wince in irritation with an involuntary step backward. Jackson’s eyes flicked to him with a curious grimace.

Jackson held up the scalpel to the men, a minute grey substance sat upon the silver metal.

“And what is that Jackson?” asked Drake, unconvinced.

“This my dear Sargent is ash.” Jackson responded.

“But—”

“Exactly! I know what you’re going to say, Drake. Where is the fire? The answer is there isn’t one. No sign of an accelerant. Nothing at all.” He said as if a fever had taken him and a grin tore across his mouth.

Reid watched on, a puzzled look upon his face, “So are you suggesting they somehow burnt the body without anyone noticing and without leaving a trace?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting! It could be from a cigarette. However, I think we’ve forgotten some crucial elements of this vanishing body.”

“That being Jackson? Please spare us the dramatics.” Reid said with a roll of his eyes.

“Firstly, how did this person or persons get in? We’re assuming that they were an outsider. However, to pass through the station unnoticed it may be likely that this was done by someone who would not be noticed. Either an officer or possibly a cleaner? Not that I’ve ever seen one of those about this place.

“Secondly, whoever did this _didn’t_ take the man’s clothes. If the perp truly wanted to end this investigation, they would have taken the clothes as well, but they remained here.” He said gesturing to the fine clothes of Mr. Conway that sat folded upon Jackson’s chaotic workbench.

“So, are you suggesting…?” Hal asked in quiet astonishment at the man’s jumps in logic.

“I am _telling_ you that whoever did this, had _nothing_ to do with the murder. This was a separate party.” Jackson declared, eyes alight with the passion of the hunt.

“Jesus Christ.” Reid muttered shoving his hands into his pockets.

Hal couldn’t help but agree with the man’s sentiments. On the night he had been more concerned with the safety of the humans in the area and less so the evidence. For his folly, his friends would not put the responsibility of this disappearing body on Jacob and instead, focus would be reflected straight onto H division.

Drake cut in, “But why take the body? If they didn’t want to stop the investigation.”

“Yes…” whispered Reid deep in thought, “Flight, what did you find on these men? Wyndham and Yorke.” Jackson started at the name, head swivelling in his direction and Hal’s throat suddenly felt dry.

Coughing for a moment he spoke, “Wyndham is indeed listed as Jacob’s brother. There is no mention of this Yorke fellow as an associate or stakeholder in the business.”

“Right!” Reid near crowed, “That is enough to get us a warrant, this Jacob fellow lied to us. We need to arrest Mr. Hardwicks and search his premises, find the evidence that ties him to the murder.”

“He won’t be there now.” Drake said with a frown.

“Ah yes, the work hours have finished. Do we have a home address?” Reid asked.

Hal wanted the floor to just swallow him as he spoke, “Yes sir, but he lives in K division.”

“Damn! Shine wouldn’t let that go. Okay, we need to make sure we plan this ahead. The man knows we’re onto him so he may be prepared for our arrival. Could he leave?” Reid asked.

“He doesn’t seem like the type.” Hal hedged, leaning up against the workbench, “He is an arrogant tosser. He thinks he’s going to get away with this, so he’ll stay.”

“I agree with the kid.” Jackson said, putting the ash under his microscope and leaning to look down the warping lens.

“Right so we wait until the morn?” Drake asked.

“Needs must.” Reid said sagely.

“Jesus Christ!” Jackson yelped; his body rigid as he looked through the microscope.

“What is it?” Reid asked in concern, stepping towards the American.

“Well,” Jackson pulled himself from the microscope, “I just looked at the ash and it’s definitely from a body.”

“How can you tell?” Hal asked leaning forward to stare at the offending bit of grey.

“Well ash from different sources looks different under a microscope and this is definitely flesh _however_ it is consistent in size!” Jackson said, “Well it just doesn’t happen! Flames are erratic and bodies burn at different rates, therefore, creating inconsistencies in the ash, but this acts more like…flour? Ground down to perfection. Each grain is the same size.”

“But that’s impossible!” Drake rumbled.

Hal was shell-shocked, modern technology had come so far since he last found any need to care for it. He had never heard of a microscope having the ability to look at singular grains in such a way without distorting the image.

“Right okay.” Reid seemed tired, “This is something we have to leave for now. We need to seek justice for the murder of Mr. Conway. The destruction of evidence, especially if done by one of our own is of vital importance but we do not know if this man will strike again upon our streets. I’ll set a watch on the parlour for tonight. We’ll go round in the morning, a small group as not to spook them and make them run. Then we make the arrest and search.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jackson said, nodding along and Hal nodded with him. He was unable to think of a single thing that could stop this investigation, short of telling Jacob that the police were coming.

“Right, get home and get some rest. Be here early, at five.” Drake groaned, “No exceptions alright. This man is a danger to the people of Whitechapel.” He strode from the room, leaving them struck into silence.

“Why does he always get like that when we’re close to catching a perp?” Jackson asked the room, “All…commander-y.”

“It’s the stress I imagine Jackson. Just be thankful for the early send-off today. I’m going to get home and kip. See you two tomorrow,” Drake said, trailing out of the room with a wave.

“I—”

“It was you wasn’t it?” Jackson asked gravely, cutting off the hasty goodbye that sat ready upon Hal’s tongue. “Come on Flight, I kept quiet with Reid about your meeting with this Jacob fellow, but now you’re telling me he _did it_ and you’re somehow involved with him.”

Hal crossed his arms and watched the man wind himself in circles —silence, he had learnt was sometimes the best policy.

“You can’t expect me to not speak to Reid about this?” Jackson continued, “Jacob even tried to _implicate_ you, but you seem uncaring or at least unruffled. How old are you like twenty-four? You’re treating this as if it is a walk in the park.”

Hal laughed, devoid of mirth, “No Jackson.” Hal hissed, venom seeping into his voice, “I will, by the morning lose everything I have worked for these last few years and I’m going to let it happen. Tell him if it so please you but don’t think that this is _easy_ for me. You know nothing of this.”

Jackson’s face grew crimson with anger, that twisted his mouth unpleasantly, “Only because you tell me nothing! You are holding back on us and putting us in danger!”

Hal scoffed, “Trust me. You do that plenty well enough yourself.”

“There you go again! Just deflecting. Tell me—tell me what this is about? What did you do to the body Flight? Why get rid of it and not the clothes? If this puts you in such danger and threatens your life, why not turn us away from the investigation? You had the opportunity. You hate this Jacob man, that much is obvious. You’re helping this investigation against _logic_ it seems, but what I don’t understand is _why_ get rid of Conway?”

Hal felt the veneer of humanity cracking under the furious onslaught of Jackson, “You have no proof it was me.”

“You’re right, you were meticulous. Impossibly so, _impossibly so._ How?” Jackson asked desperately staring around the sterile room, “I am no man of God, but science does not explain this Flight.”

Hal could hear the man’s blood pressure rising, pumping around his body to its entrancing rhythm. Just below his skin was that wellspring of pleasure and if Hal took it the questions would be at their end.

“You do not wish to know Homer,” Hal whispered as he wrenched himself from the sound of the blood, “If you ever had any trust for me before these days believe me when I say you do not wish to know. If I can help it, I am going to keep it from you.”

“But why?” Jackson asked, his hands clasping out in front of him as if he wanted to grab Hal and shake him.

“Because this has happened before, for me I mean, and you will despise this knowledge. It will disgust you; you will see things in the shadows that you did not know before. You will live the rest of your life in fear. Believe me. Please.” Hal begged, gazing at the man wide-eyed.

“Happened before? Jesus Christ when you were what, twelve?” Jackson asked.

“No.” Hal replied and left the room to the shouts of Jackson, but the man did not give chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> Things are getting a bit wild!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation with Jacob at the station has rattled Hal. Jackson's accusations even more so, Hal is determined to keep his friends safe and stop his estranged friend from revealing the existence of vampires to the world. 
> 
> Surely that will work out.

He had slept dreamlessly that night. Nothing came crawling to him in the darkness with wicked tongues and twisting bodies. For the first time since he had gone dry, the night had been peaceful—that did not put Hal at ease.

Meditation left the familiar welcome knot of grounding pain in his chest that morning. Born of the flashing images of his protracted massacre of the monks in Budapest—he’d let them think they had escaped his sight, let them run. Let them hope. He punished them for his incarceration within their holy lands; for all the times they had not killed him; for how they had wanted to cleanse him, for how they spent nine months chanting over him, for feeding him stale bread that crumbled in his mouth like ash. He had made them pay so dearly for it in the end. For their faith in him to repent for sins that splayed across time like ink, staining every corner of his being. 

As he got ready for the morning their faces swirling before him and so he made sure to stretch until his muscles burnt, pushing his body into readiness as the sun peaked over the horizon, peering through the haze of the grey clouds. It was bound to rain today.

Dressing quickly, he grabbed his stakes from the bottom of his ratty cupboard. One for each man and one who wore their shape.

He rushed from the house and into the brisk air of the morning that was barely lit by the sun’s watery rays, a few raindrops spattered upon his cheeks leaving cool trails upon his skin. Tilting his chin to the clouds he watched as they fell like sliver pins to the ground, splashing against the cobbles with a patter.

He hated the rain; it was so British.

Hal took his time wandering up Leman Street, drawing out what was to be the final journey to the worn brick building, letting the rain have its fill of him—to chill and cleanse him. He noted the rickety stalls upon the main street, mostly empty, but a few still stocked as if left overnight, surprisingly untouched by thieves and vagabonds. Hal’s brow crinkled in confusion at the sight, most of the shop owners were violently protective of their wares and would not leave them unattended.

He started to jog, feet slapping on the cobbles.

The station came into view, squat and dower in the rain, the red bricks washed to dark crimson by the deluge that now poured from the sky. Despite the early hour a crowd of stall owners and pedestrians had gathered like a flock around the entrance. The rain dampened their scent, as if he was smelling them through glass but there was the sharp tang of blood upon the air that called to him, bringing him closer.

“Get out of my way!” He heard the gruff voice of Drake from the other side of the crowd, the bowler hat of Reid poked up from above the crowd.

He began to run, pumping his arms and moving with the surety of his unnatural agility. He pushed through the crowd, muttering apologises as he broke through the barrier of human bodies and found himself at bottom of the stairs of the station.

The first thing he noticed was the shock of red hair that splayed out across the stairs like split dye and not yet soaked by the rain. The second was the ruby blood that flowed from a jagged wound upon the body’s neck to the cobblestones beneath his feet like the river Acheron in its woeful eddies. She had been draped across the stairs in a gown of pure white, that clung to her in the peppering rain. A macabre piece of fine classical art.

“Get back you dogs!” Drake roared, pushing the crowd away from the scene, his voice strained.

Hal took a shaky step forward, for now he knew it was Evelyn. Beautiful, uncomplicated Evelyn, his rudderless companion in the seas of London for a short while. She laid their as if sleeping, her lifeblood was still warm, but stale in her deathly repose.

But there she was, a transparent spirit before the crowd, a memory, and she wept, unaffected by the rain, her hair still a perfect waterfall of auburn down her back. She stared at him upon his approach, the doors of the police station were glowing behind her in pure white whirls, “Bertrand? Can you…can you see me?” she asked and was met with his sharp nod.

“Go.” he whispered, his voice thick. He dared not look at her as he spoke, “You might not get another chance, leave now. I am so sorry.”

She looked towards the door with wide doe-like eyes, obviously feeling it’s magnetic pull and for a moment the temptation to follow her was great, to finally see those men again.

“Go!” He shouted, lost amongst the babble of the crowd. Stricken the girl stared at her body with glassy eyes before she pivoted and ran to the door, wrenching it open and throwing herself through.

He wasn’t sure if he was crying or if it was the rain, but he stepped forward, crouching down to her. Her lips were pale petals, barely pink as he ran his fingers down them, stroked her scarlet curls from her eyes that were closed delicately.

“We need to move her.” he felt the looming presence of the inspector over him and the firm hand on his shoulder, “The crime scene is already compromised with the people here. Come, get her inside.”

Hal nodded mechanically and grasped at her body, drawing her into his arms, she was still warm against his chest—her blood soaked through his shirt, leaving his skin slick. She weighed nothing upon him, and he moved through the fog of his shock, in some bastardised parody of the marriage ritual he carried her over the threshold.

“What’s going on!?” Jackson was here, he noticed distantly, the world around him way wavering and spinning away, knocked off its axis.

She was meant to be living her new life in America.

“The girl! The girl from months ago. Someone has murdered her and left her upon the steps.” Reid yelled over the hustle around them, Hal did not care. Officers moved out of the way as he carried her to the dead room, like the Red Sea they parted before him.

A prophet amongst the masses, bloodied and raw like a nerve. Thank God for his gifts and for his curses upon this earth. For he brings the innocent into the storms of the wicked.

Hal staggered into the whiteness of the dead room; Jackson was at his back as he placed her with reverence upon the table, folding her hands over one another.

He stepped back, her blood was all over him, the smell of it his sent him careening into lust. He dared not breath; it was as heady as he had imagined it would be in her room all those months ago. As delicate as the first day of spring, and it was over him, wet and wanting and calling, he screwed his eyes shut.

“Jesus Christ Flight.” Jackson whispered in the darkness; his hand was warm upon his shoulder.

“Do not touch me.” the accent had dropped; the mask was nowhere to be found within the swirling darkness behind his eyelids. The hand disappeared, the anchor was gone, and he floated, in the distant liminal space he could hear footsteps.

“The street is near clear. Is this Evelyn Foley?” Reid asked.

“I don’t know I didn’t meet her Reid.” Jackson replied in a panic, “I’d say ask the lad, but he’s lost it.”

“Flight? Open your eyes Flight.” Reid was before him, he could feel his warm breath upon his face and the monster was right there begging to finally meet the man, scratching at his insides, tearing at his skin, the inside of his skull. He took a breath, focussing on the flatness of the blood, it would not give him the high he would chase to the ends of the earth. It would do nothing for him, it would only bring him closer to the man that ended Sylvie. He let her face enter him mind, with her smile of springtime and opened his eyes blinking back to humanity through the shadows.

He was faced by the concerned visages of Reid, Drake and Jackson, all creased with worry.

“It’s her.” he choked out, the smell of her physically pained him, his stomach knotting and unknotting in painful contractions.

“I’m sorry Flight.” Reid whispered, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

“She died recently, probably in the last hour. Rigamortis hasn’t set in yet so.”

“She’s still warm Jackson.” Hal said, “We just missed her killer, he was right there. He was probably watching us. But I can hazard as to who it was.” His voice shook at he took in the wound torn into the girl’s neck. None of the precision that Jacob had given Mr. Conway. She was meant to die, unsavable without Hal’s own blood, “I-I stopped you know on my walk to feel the rain…if I hadn’t s-stopped—”

“Flight don’t.” Reid said, bracing Hal under his arm, “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have done something.” Hal whispered.

Drake sighed, his eyes wet as he watched on, “You can’t just take the law into your own hands son. You know that. We’ve followed procedure there was nothing we could have done.”

“You don—”

“I found something.” Jackson gasped, gently pulling a blood-spattered piece of parchment from the girl’s hand. Hal noticed the bruising around her wrists as the paper left her hand, manacles surely—Jacob had kept her caged.

He had known. Jacob had known he was here all this time.

“What does it say?” Reid asked, extricating himself from Hal and staring down at the offending piece of paper.

“Just two lines of text. Though it doesn’t make sense much: ‘ _If the lion wishes hard enough, he shall become the lamb. For the vain is all wisdom and false philosophy_.”’ Jackson murmured running his finger along the veins of ink.

Reid’s head snapped up and he stared at Hal, “That’s Milton. That second line is Milton. _Jesus_ she’s a message.”

“Yes.” Hal said, staring down at the girl, who had been in his life for half a blink of his eye. She had died, deeply personal for her, the end of potential, the end of _life_. She only had sticks and ropes to turn to now.

“Is it for you Inspector?” Drake asked, looking down at the note.

“No, no I don’t think so.” Jackson answered before Reid, stepping towards Hal, “It’s for Flight. What does it mean?”

“The first.” Hal said his voice shaking as he grasped the note, “A-are the last words spoken to me by an old friend of mine.”

“Snow?” Jackson asked, head tilted to the side.

Hal nodded, “The s-second well, I think that’s easy enough. He is reproaching me, and it is revenge for—”

“Wait I am sorry to interrupt here but wait a moment,” Reid said turning to the two. Hal froze under the glare the inspector that cut into him, “Do you know Mr. Hardwicks Flight?”

There was no use in hiding it now, “Y-yes, you could say we are old friends.” Hal said, watching the sour look of betrayal cross Reid’s features, twisting his mouth into an angry line.

“And you thought not to mention it? Your friendship with a man many years your senior, who is the main suspect in our murder enquiry.” Reid raged, advancing upon him. Hal took a step back, fear rising in him as the inspector bared down upon him.

“Wait Reid.” Jackson pled grabbing the man by the arm, “Let the boy explain, the man was threatening him.”

“It was too dangerous to tell you, I went to him only yesterday to call him off, but he has always been…headstrong. I did what I thought was best at the time without involving you all. However, this had gotten so messy I can barely keep myself…” Hal sighed, “Look we need to get this sorted now. You can always question me later. Arrest me if you wish but I need to speak to Jacob.”

“ _Speak_ to Jacob?” Drake asked indignantly, “This girl may be dead because you did not tell us about this Flight.”

“You understand not Drake.” Hal hissed, ice running through his veins as the larger man took a step from him, “She is dead because she met me. She was dead as soon as she crossed paths with me. Jacob has been watching me, I fear without my knowledge. I will not let that slip again but do not assume my telling you anything you would have changed that fact.”

“There was no record of you.” Reid sighed, face strained, “No record of you before Bloomsbury and I just…Jesus, who are they Flight? This Snow and Jacob? Who are you?”

“The very worst things in the world inspector.” Hal hung his head, staring at the blood that slowly dried upon his hands, flaked and cracking like paint, “I-I look, let me leave, Jacob will be waiting for me. I’ll face him. I’ll do what I must, and I will return here.”

“But you could die Flight!” Jackson protested clasping his wrist in a vice-like grip.

“I will not allow it.” Hal replied, plucking each finger from him with ease, watching as the man’s eyes widened.

“Oh God.” he whispered, gaping as his digits moved without his consent.

“Jackson, I think we have established I’m not a Catholic,” Hal said with sad smile.

“I will not allow you to leave on your own, we will go together Flight.” Reid said stepping forward between the two men with a scowl upon his face.

Hal closed his eyes, willing these meddling creatures from away him, but upon opening his eyes they still stood before him, “If you insist. But I warn you the sights that will meet you will hau—”

“Yeah yeah and then we’ll be talking.” Jackson said, rubbing the fingers that Hal had pulled at. Hal nodded in reply barely able to respond.

“Besides we can’t let you go on your own lad. You’re part of the team still. You’ve got secrets it seems just like the rest of the world.” Drake said with a small smile, as he scrubbed his arm.

Hal glanced back at Evelyn’s body, “Right,” he said turning back to the men, “I assume Jacob will be waiting for us.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t have run?” Reid asked, scepticism laced his words.

“I am more than sure. I have known him for such a time that, well he would not have pulled off this…spectacle without my witness. He wants the confrontation. Now may we go please?” Hal asked in frustration.

“Yes, let us leave.” Reid said, pulling the gun from his pocket and checking the cylinder.

“You’ll be needing these.” Hal pulled out three stakes from inside his jacket. The final nail on the coffin.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.” Drake bemoaned staring down at the innocuous bits of wood.

“I am sadly not kidding; he is a vampire. Nothing will kill him other than a stake through the heart. Well…actually a large enough explosion would probably kill him as well, but we do not have the time for such theatrics.” Hal stated, still holding out the three whittled branches.

Jackson was the first to take one, “Are you sure Flight?” Hal wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking but he nodded, he was sure where this would go. Where it would end. What he would need to do. It left a void in his chest, but surety kept him company.

Reid and Drake looked far more dubious, “Come gentlemen. You saw the bodies at least take one in case I may prove myself to be correct? And if I am not, you can just arrest the man as we planned.” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Should we be taking crosses? Or something? Garlic? Holy water? Jesus this is actually insane.” Jackson said tucking the stake into the waist band of his trousers as Reid and Drake took the stakes.

“Jacob is an Old One, immune to those weaknesses.” Hal replied.

“Jesus okay.” Jackson whispered patting himself down, “Do we need anything else?”

“I don’t think so.” Reid replied shakily, “We should not bring any men with us. If what Flight says is…is true we cannot take them to face Jacob without anything to defend themselves and if Flight had lied once again. Well, we three should be able to arrest him without issue.”

Hal smiled slightly—Reid: ever logical.

“Let us go then gentlemen.” Drake said, clapping his hands together as he walked through the door, grim eyed and prepared.

Discordance was at the very heart of Hal’s being and at that moment they warred between warmth and sheer annoyance at the men before him, curling in his chest and settling through his body.

Reid followed his Sargent out, his movement stiff and his eyes blown wide, flicking back to Hal as if he had seen a ghost.

“Come on Flight.” Jackson said clapping him on the arm.

Hal sighed, “You know you don’t have to call me that.”

“But it’s you lad. Everyone deserves second chances and look at you, ready to sacrifice yourself for us. I’ll call you Flight because that’s the man I know. If that’s okay with you.”

Hal’s chest grew tight at the words, “It’s fine by me.”

“Excellent, now let’s go get this bastard.” Jackson strode from the room following the others, Hal glanced back at Evelyn and followed.

* * *

“They’re ignoring it you know.” Jackson whispered as they strode through the streets. People avoided them like the plague, children cried as they passed—well Hal could only assume it was because he was covered in blood, “Reid won’t believe it until he sees it and well Drake…don’t think he’d believe anything without Reid’s permission.”

Hal sighed, “Yes I assumed as much.”

“Do you want to know what I believe?” Jackson asked, jogging to keep up with the pace Hal set.

“I have a feeling you may tell me anyway.” Hal murmured, “But how about you save it, huh? Until we are all alive and accounted for?”

“Maybe you are right. All the sweeter with the proof.” Jackson joked digging his elbow into Hal’s side.

Hal let a smile touch his lips, it was a shame that he was only to watch the passing boat of their friendship.

The rest of the walk passed in silence, until the four men came to the familiar crossroads.

“Are you sure about this?” Hal asked them one last time, his voice tinged with desperation, hands wrapping around the stake in his jacket pocket.

“We are sure Flight.” Reid said with conviction, “This man is a murderer and he had threatened you. We will stand by your side and in doing so we do our duty.”

Hal nodded tightly, “Thank you sir.”

Without delay the group moved like smoke through the crowds, shushing past women selling their wares and men drinking upon the streets who barely spared them a glance.

The familiar walls of J.W.Hardwicks rose before them and Jackson snorted out a laugh, “Wait so, before we go in I just want to state for the record that you’re claiming his man is a vampire and runs _a funeral home._ ”

“What can I say, vampires love irony.” Hal whispered with a smirk.

Reid with his mouth downturned murmured, “There is the back entrance. Should we go around gents?”

“There’s no point, he knows we are here.” Hal said, pulling the stake from his jacket.

“Ah, so front door?” Drake asked, palming the stake in his hand as if it had the potential to bite him.

“Probably the easiest.” Hal replied taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment, the heartbeats around him grew insistent but he brushed them aside, grasping for the sound of footfalls within, “He will not be alone, but they will not interfere. He will want this victory to himself. Let us go.”

Hal walked upon to the door and without ceremony let it swing inwards with a creak.

“Hal!” Jacob yelled from in the gloom, his voice was sourceless in the dank, “I was wondering when you would arrive dear! Did you enjoy your present?” his said near coy, as if it were a dirty word.

“You know I did not Jacob!” Hal replied into the shadows allow the lilting Irish to fade, ignoring the looks of confusion from Reid and Drake. The former pulled out his gun and clicked off the safety a griminess set across his features.

“And is that some heartbeats I hear? My friend, I am touched I did not believe this was an exchange of such warm gifts and one of them brought a pistol…how quaint!” Jacob whispered, his voice against their ears like an unwanted caress. Hal held the stake a little tighter and turned to the group flicking his head into the darkness. They took hesitant steps, the floorboards creaking beneath them.

“Come now Jacob. Stop with the dramatics, we need to talk this through properly.” Hal sighed.

“Oh, Hal don’t you understand…” Jacob was closer now, he could smell him on the draft, the musk of Evelyn’s blood still laced upon his breath, “I do the talking now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last chapter! Then just an epilogue!!! Exciting stuff


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal and Jacob finally face one another. What will be the fallout from this meeting?

A yell sounded behind him, in the inky darkness, he only saw vague shapes warp and shift, light shadows that twisted as if he was caught in his waking nightmares. Screams sounded out and the tell-tale crackling of a vampire meeting its end rent through the air, but he was unaccosted. Then there was silence, only heavy breathing cut through its grip, warm and human but still alive, three hearts still beating.

It seemed that Jacob had changed somewhat. He was using the help.

Buzzing filled the air, as if a dozen mayflies had filled the space, lights flickered above, dazzling in their brightness.

A circle of vampires surrounded him, the burliest of them held his struggling companions in their grips, blood poured from wounds, bruises bloomed upon their faces, but they were alive. A large ginger fellow seemed to struggle to hold Drake in his grasp but a swift punch to the temple left the man’s head lolling. Was that _Radley?_

Before him stood Jacob, bare-chested with a stake held in his grip loosely.

“You intend to fight me, Jacob?” Hal asked, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

“I intend to kill you friend.” Jacob said with a smile full of knives, fangs glinting in the fluorescence. Hal glanced over at Reid who watched on in horror, looking pale as he took in the sight.

“Ah,” Hal replied with a small smile, “Have we not tried over the years, my friend? Is it not folly?”

“But you are weak! How long has it been? Ten years, fifteen?”

“Twenty at my last count.” Hal’s eyes flicked to his friends with an involuntary reflex, still the blood called to him so sweetly, Jacob followed his gaze eyes alight with fire.

“Oh, my Lord Hal! Did you not tell your companions?” Jacob turned to the captured men, hand on chest in mock surprise, “Your young Constable Albert Flight here is not the man he claims to be—”

“Don’t Jacob.” Hal warned, gripping the stake he took a step forward, imbued with menace of the familiar deadly dance. 

“Ah Ah!” Jacob wagged his finger as if he were a child, “One more step and I get my men to break their necks.” Hal froze watching in his peripheries as Jackson and Reid struggled, “Good boy. Now, Flight here is not the man he claims to be, which I’m sure you already know. Maybe you have an inkling. This, my merry gentlemen, is Lord Hal Yorke. I know a complete shock! Known throughout the ages as Hal, Harry or Henry depending on our dear friend’s mercurial moods. The scourge of Europe he was only about…twenty years ago and now he’s _here_ playing cops and robbers like a schoolboy! Born upon the battlefield he was!” He said with a flourish and a bow, “Come now men, bow to your Lord!” Jacob whispered as quiet as the dead and nodded to his lackeys, who forced the men to bow, punching them as they bent around their middles with pathetic groans.

Hal started in horror, as tears formed in his eyes, “Stop this Jacob! Please let them go!”

“I will not! Tell them what you are, or I kill them like runts in a stream!”

“I—I—”

“Jesus. How the mighty fall.” Jacob held his hand aloft like a conductor. Reid and Jackson struggled, sweat springing from their brows as they moaned against their restraints, eyes rolling in fear like colts for the slaughter.

“I am a vampire!” Hal yelled, the world stilled around him as Reid stared mouth agape and Drake himself seemed too out of it to have comprehended, head lolling to the side. Jackson appeared vindicated behind the swelling of his lip.

“Yes! Excellent.” Jacob crowed, “See boys. This whole _situation_ could have been avoided actually and Hal here feels so _guilty._ Like a bloody Catholic its disgusting. Mercy is just a manacle, Hal! Do you remember that?”

“I remember.” Hal whispered through his teeth. 

Jacob paced in front of him, movement fluid like a panther as he twitched, edging for the fight, “This here, is my maker. Back in the Reformation, Germany actually. Horrible times for the witches and vampires who didn’t watch themselves, but we enjoyed ourselves didn’t we Henry!? Oh, the blood of priests was ever the sweeter when they realised how they were to end!”

“But why Jacob? Why now?” Hal begged, “You could have killed me years ago why now?”

“What year is it Hal?”

“1892.” He replied.

“It’s my anniversary Hal!” Jacob yelled, spittle flying from his mouth spraying across the floor, “Or it would have been if you had not killed her! My dearest Isabella,” Jacob’s face crumpled like sand eaten away by the oncoming tide. The struggles of his friend grew louder at the admission.

“A hundred years.” Hal breathed.

“A hundred years of solitude,” Jacob seethed, “A hundred years without her! Because of you! Bring the vampires out of hiding I say, let the world burn and run with the wine from children’s necks. All for her Hal!” 

“But…Jacob she slaughtered a whole school, near where I lived. Sylvie’s niece died! She was one a rampage!” Hal contested.

“But that never stopped you did it!? What did you do after Sylvie Hal?” Jacob shrieked; madness leaked from him like smoke as his face warped into a snarl.

Hal snapped, as tight as a bowstring, “Enough of this!”

He pounced upon the man, stake held high as he knocked them both to the ground, a cloud of dust billowing around them. Hal managed to keep himself above the vampire as they fell with flying punches and kicks. Jacob’s impacts hit dully against him as if they were in a dream, while the vampire hissed and nipped at empty air where Hal’s throat had once been. He raised the weapon aloft, striking downwards towards Jacob’s chest but the vampire twisted, kicking out like a horse into Hal’s middle which sent him soaring across the room.

The seconds of weightlessness left Hal spinning as he hit the ground hard upon his back. His ears rung from the impact, distantly he wondered if the city’s church bells were to go off soon. It was near time for morning mass.

Hal stood, shaky upon his feet, like a newborn lamb, as the day’s rain ran off him in rivulets, shimming from his shaking fingers to the ground beneath him. The light flickered above casting shadows across Jacob’s face, stretching his features in the monstrous glow as he laughed, “Come now Henry!” he breathed, “You must do better than that. I’m stronger now and we both know it, or do you not wish to save your friends?” he taunted, fangs gleaming in the yellow of the light.

“I do not need strength to kill you Jacob.” Hal whispered, flipping the stake in hand, holding it like an ice pick. He shifted his weight lower into a crouch and watched the man, who twitched and shook before him with bird-like bobs and twists. Impatient.

Hal waited, wetting his lips, the taste of his own blood on his tongue was maddening, the taste without the euphoria left him hanging upon a cliff face and staring down into the wine-dark sea below him. **He** was there, just below the crashing waves, smiling as Hal teetered, scrabbling closer and closer towards him—ready to claw the world asunder at the slightest hint of weakness.

Jacob darted towards him, as quick as a bullet, tossing his stake into his off-hand, he spun and thrust it towards Hal’s chest. He weaved out of the way, slapping the arm left with his own and aimed a sweeping kick at the man’s legs, who jumped out of the way lurching off balance as he dodged. Hal stalked forwards and remained low, waiting for Jacob to strike.

He daren’t look at the humans, but their muffled calls through dirty hands still reached his ears. Drake’s own rough tenor had joined the calls, and Hal steeled himself against the twisting of his gut that bayed for their blood, his own lip’s ichor still mocking him with its empty promises.

Jacob assessed him, eyes unending inky pits as he watched, “How do you do it, Hal? _It_ calls to you; I can see it in every part of you as you shake like a child. You said the blood was your vocation, a way back to _life._ ”

Hal held the stake with a white-knuckle grip, “Mercy is more of a strength than any other my boy, but that is something you have never understood, and it is something that I will not give you today.”

Hal struck up from below, lightning-fast but Jacob jumped back just as quickly, dancing back, “Come on Hal…give in. Give into it. You need it and you know it. Petrify the humans, terrify them with the monster! Remember the wolves, remember how you gave in so easily after Snow cut you to ribbons, leaving you dry and gasping. It was like slipping back into a well-worn suit you said. Even when we called for your blood you denied us the pleasure of your death. You survived! As you all ways do…like a cockroach! Do it! Like with Hanna and Katrina and Sylvie! Let them see!” he hissed.

Roaring waves crashed into Hal at Jacob’s words, the world turned deep crimson, images flashed and warbled in his mind as if the plague’s fever had taken hold of him. His fangs pressed against his lips like needles and his eyes shifted to black each cord of him struck the same lethal note as he hissed. The familiar sound that brought death wherever it was sounded. 

“There he is.” Jacob whispered and vaulted towards him, stake low as he feinted to the left. Hal tracked his movements, backing up and waiting for an opening. Letting his strength bubble beneath his skin, letting his resolve simmer and fester as the other vampire struck again and again driven by his passions.

Always driven by _feelings._

Jacob swung wide with a punch, leaving his chest open with wide eyes and Hal took his moment, plunging the stake through his ribs with a wet crunch. He could feel the ribs snap beneath his fingers, the vampire’s chest concave as if it were made of wet paper. His aim was deadly and clinical. His opponent gasped wetly, coughing as blood spilled from his lips, faint grey lines crawled across his skin slowly like spider’s silk.

Neither said a word, for what were last words between the oldest of friends? Everything had been said.

Jacob crumbled to ash.

Hal stared down at the pile, chest heaving and catching, “Let them go.” He whispered into the silence.

None moved, muscles jumped in jaws and tongues licked lips nervously, sweat gathered upon lips.

“I said let them go or join your master!” Hal bellowed, still staring at the pile, licking his own blood from his lips. The vampires dropped the humans to the ground and Hal turned slowly to the creatures, “Tell the others, Lord Harry has returned to London. Tell them what happened here today. Go!”

The fledglings scattered, running like beaten dogs from their master, fear painted across their faces. The door clattered their exit, daylight streaming into the semi-darkness, alighting upon the shaken faces of his human companions all crumpled to their knees. 

_What were their names again?_

His fangs detracted, disappearing into his gums slowly, his vision cleared, the shadowed clouds dissipating leaving him void and empty. The stake in his hand fell to the ground with a small rattle against the floorboard.

He rushed over to them, heart in his throat as he tumbled to his knees.

“Don’t!” Reid flinched away.

Hal stilled, frozen prostrate before them in his martyrdom, before the three men he would consider friends.

“Is what that thing said true?” Drake asked, his voice teetered on soft, an unfamiliar sound for the roughness of the man.

“Yes. Everything Jacob said was true.” Hal intoned; the gravity of the moment not lost upon him.

“Flight…Hal. Jesus Christ I-I can’t wrap my head around it.” Jackson muttered wiping his blood from his mouth, staring down at the gleaming ruby liquid and up towards the vampire.

“I understand. Do not fear I will not bite you.” It was mostly true as well, his stomach turned and quivered with want but he would not allow for its hold to take him.

“I guess this is your time to say I told you so.” The American laughed, shaky and rough upon the air, “I don’t think I will forget that.”

Hal smirked, “I would not stoop so low. Your worldview is shattered and now the things that go bump in the night are flesh. It is…a lot to take in. But it is over, the day is won, and I will answer your questions, if only to put your minds at rest.” he sighed.

There was a parlay between them, a no man’s land of a few feet that kept them still, suspended in a delicate truce across the metaphysical, but cavernous divide between them.

Jackson laughed across it, uncaring for the wariness that was pouring from his other human companions in waves, “We’ve been calling you ‘lad’ Jesus Christ the Reformation Flight! You must have thought us fools.”

“No.” Hal said, “I would never think you fools. You were exceptionally brave today. It is something to be proud of.”

Reid coughed, “Mr. Yorke.” Hal flinched at the sudden formality, “Let us get back to the station. There is…much to discuss.” Hal could see the thoughts flicker across the man’s eyes.

“Alright…” Hal said slowly, rising from his position. He held out his hand to the inspector.

Reid stared at the hand with wide eyes. Hal felt the tightness in his chest chew at him, he dropped his hand slowly but was met with the steady warmth of skin upon his own chilled hand as the inspector grasped him, pulling himself to his feet.

Hal smiled.

* * *

“So, is being a vampire the reason why you don’t drink?” Jackson asked, a glass of whiskey sat loosely in his hand, gleaming like honey in the low light of the fire.

“Yes, in some sense. It lowers the inhibitions and therefore can…have an ill effect on my self-control.” Hal said with a small nervous smile as three men sat before him. Hal sipped on his lemonade, the sugar dissipating on his tongue in sweet little bursts.

“How old are you Flight?” Drake asked, leaning forward interest glittering in his eyes.

“Around four hundred years old at last count Drake. You can call me Hal if you wish, Flight never _really_ existed.” Hal sighed leaning back in his chair, ignoring the tension that seeped into the room like acrid smoke.

“Jesus.” Reid whispered eyes trained upon his whiskey that he swirled around the glass, leaving a transparent film in its wake, “The things you have seen.”

“Yes, I have seen much in my time upon the earth.” Hal murmured a small frown flittered across his face.

“Why here though?” Jackson asked, “Why London?”

“I returned to my home, my center and my humanity. To rediscover it I thought I would need the city to guide me. Poetic twattery of course but…a long life makes you nostalgic.” Hal breathed.

“You were born in London?” Reid asked.

“I was born _here_ inspector. The building is gone, burnt to the ground soon after I left for Gdansk as a mercenary but yes, Whitechapel was my home.” It wasn’t a lie exactly, the flashes of flames like bird wings still clung to him so many years later. Mrs. Brown’s screams and the roaring birds of red echoed through the ages in his ears. She would never use another woman or boy again and he found very little in him that regret the small flame he lit under her bed.

The men leaned back, Drake scrubbed his hands over his face, but Reid looked tired, as if the world hung upon him like a cloak. Jackson looked bemused.

“So not a Lordling then?” Drake asked an uncomfortable smile upon his face.

Hal groaned, “No, not in my human life.”

“But an Old One?” Reid asked, “I’ve seen you in churches and you entered the station all those months ago with permission.”

“An Old One, yes I guess I am that.” He said, tapping his fingers upon the glass.

Drake frowned, “What does it mean exactly? Is it just about age?”

“Not entirely,” Hal said, choosing his words carefully, “It is somewhat of a title for…services through the ages.”

“So why go by Flight?” Jackson asked cutting across Reid’s inevitable question and lit a cigarette with a practiced hand, blowing tiny smoke rings into the air, “Because you were running?”

Hal chuckled, “Yes. The name was in some ways a joke. But part of the reason, I regret to inform you gentlemen, is that within your departments there are vampires who seek to hide the truth from you and therefore I could not risk my name being recognised.”

“Like yourself?” Reid asked, accusation acute in his voice.

“Like myself.” Hal acquiesced with a nod.

Reid frowned, “But would they not recognise you when they met you?”

“I have not returned to my homeland since I left it, Reid. The chances to the fledglings recognising me by sight was minimal. However, my name has…travelled.” Hal muttered taking another sip from his glass.

“Tell me who.” Reid demanded.

“No.”

“Please.”

“I will tell you one if it please you, but it will do nothing to ease your mind sir.” Hal said gravely.

Reid nodded in askance, Hal continued, “Jedidiah Shine, your competitor.”

Jackson laughed, “No fucking way.” he breathed.

“Indeed, when he came to the station, he recognised me for what I was immediately and attempted to jump me on my way home in some attempt to bring me into his employ. To act as a spy upon you sir. I-I must admit I did not appreciate such an intrusion upon my person so I—”

“That’s why he had that black eye the day after.” Jackson crowed, “You must have really socked him if it stayed for so long.”

“Yes, I think I shattered the socket.” Hal replied, smoothing down his suit jacket. 

“Y-you beat up Shine?” Drake asked in wonderment, looking him up and down.

“Yes, I think he was relatively fresh upon the turn, maybe only ten years since he was recruited. With age, we grow stronger, but he truly relishes in his curse.”

“Why did you not tell us before?” Reid asked, strained.

“Would you have believed me, inspector?” Hal asked.

Reid sighed, rubbing his temple with his index knuckle, “I suppose not.”

Hal wiped his eyes, exhaustion laid upon him warmly, wrapping him in its grasp as he yawned.

“Okay,” Jackson, “I’ve gotta ask. Right, this is insane. Truly insane but what’s true? About vampires I mean.” he asked leaning forward.

Hal held up his glass to his face, showing them the void within the murky yellow liquid, “We have no reflections.”

“God,” Jackson breathed, “How did we not notice?”

“Normally, people ignore what they don’t understand or indeed rationalize it as to not give themselves nightmares.” Hal said nodding, “A stake through the heart will kill us, as you have seen. Very little else will. Most vampires are repelled by religious imagery and consecrated ground. The running water myth is not true, and sunlight won’t kill us obviously, it does irritate the fledglings.”

“Don’t tell me you can turn into a bat.” Drake said, his mouth agape in stupefaction.

“No, I cannot turn into a bat.” Hal said.

“Do you drink blood?” Reid asked, face draw into a map of serious lines.

Hal stilled, “I have not for around twenty years.” he said carefully.

“That is very little time in a life as long as yours.” Reid stated, his arms crossing over his chest.

“You are correct.” Hal said simply.

“Why?” Jacob asked, interest searing through his words, his fingers tapping upon his knee.

“Why what?” Hal asked.

“Why not drink? Jacob said that you _lived_ for it. I assume it’s like some kind of addiction. So why not?” Jackson said knitting his hands together.

The room quietened at his words, the space between the stretched, with the expanse of species.

Hal took a shaky breath, “If I were to be truly honest with you, I would say that when you have lived as long as I have, seen the things I’ve seen and done the things I’ve done. You…you think you’ve done everything or at least peered into all of the corners of the human heart and understood it. But…in seeing the hope and courage in others when they hang at the end of their thread it makes one want to consume it so I—”

“You’re saying you were bored.” Reid muttered.

Hal shrugged, “It is hard to put into words but that is a part of it, yes.”

“But when you’ve experienced it once why come back to it?” Drake asked, “If it were to be just boredom and to experience the goodness.” he said, taking a draught from his glass with a scowl.

“I made a promise to someone long ago that I would keep trying, that If I were to revert, I would drag myself back to the light of humanity.” Hal said, tears near pricking at his eyes, as if he were plagued by stinging nettles.

“Who?” Jackson asked.

“Sylvie…my wife a lifetime ago.” Hal whispered, he could feel a traitorous tear fall from his eyes, running a small stream down his cheek, “She found me after…after Snow. It was many years after, but she brought me back from the madness that he had embedded within me. Helped me go clean again, even when I begged her to…well she was far stronger than I and far more idealistic. Very human of her I suppose.”

“What happened to her?” Reid asked, eyes soft in his reproach. Hal suspected he already knew; the knowledge claimed the downturn in his mouth.

“I cannot say inspector.” Hal whispered.

“You will not say.” Jackson drawled from his chair.

“I will not.”

“Hal…Flight. Whatever! Look, you don’t have to tell us, but we would understand at least to some extent. Men do horrible things…” Jackson said.

“I am not a man Jackson. Humanity for you is a birthright that I gave up when I lay dying upon the battlefield of Orsha. Mercy is a coat and with the changing of the seasons, I shall most likely and unfortunately, shed it. How long will this warm wind of humanity blow? I know not. But trust me, I know intimately that men do horrible things, but the _monster_ laughs at your squalid little murderers and petty assaults. It takes _everything_ eventually.” He seethed, the lemonade in his hand forgotten, the sugar coursed through him, sizzling his veins. Possibly time to quit the confections if it were to lead to monologues.

Drake turned his face away, eyes boring into the wall as if it would tell him secrets, the grip upon his glass was near tight enough to shatter it. Reid stared on, mouth a tight little line.

“You toe the line Yorke.” Reid whispered.

“I wish not to offend but if honesty is what you desire and demand, then do not besmirch me for my words.” Hal replied, placing his glass upon the table with clink.

“You feel remorse?” Reid asked, watching him carefully as if he had placed Hal under the microscope in the dead room.

Hal laughed, hollow and light, “Every day is plagued by my past sins Inspector. I joined your ranks to protect humanity from my kind and from yours. The hypocrisy is not lost upon me.”

“Then you are a man. No monster feels remorse sir.” Reid’s conviction was palpable, as if physical between them, weaving through them and settling in their chests.

“I—”

“Here! Here!” Jackson said, raising his glass, swaying slightly upon his chair with a smile upon his face.

“However, I cannot allow you to continue your work with us.” Reid said seriously.

Hal smiled at that, “I had my intentions of resigning today anyway sir.”

“Really?” Jackson asked.

“Sir! The man should not be cast out. He did what he thought best at the time. Have we not all done the same in the past? Flight, you cannot leave us!” Drake pled.

“It is far too dangerous.” Reid ordered, taking a sip from his glass.

“The inspector is correct. The vampires know I am here now and there is a vacuum of power here that needs to be filled. They will come to find me. Besides you all deal in far too much in blood for my liking.” Hal sighed, pressing his fingers into the table.

“You intend to fill it, this vacuum?” Jackson asked, “That’s madness. I remember what you said today, about the mess of this. How you could barely keep yourself—what clean? How will you even do that? Won’t they report to Snow that you’re in a ‘good’ phase?”

“I have hidden it before, and I shall do so again. But you are right, I won’t be able to keep myself clean indefinitely,” Hal muttered scrubbing his eyes, “But if you have an alternative, I’m all for it.”

“Let someone else have it.” Reid stated as if it were obvious.

Hal tapped his fingers upon the table, a frown pulling at his lips, “It is not as simple as that.” he said carefully, “My position within politics means that no one will _take_ the position without my authority. There are few higher than me and to even try would be an offense to Snow himself.”

“I thought you hated Snow?” Jackson asked.

“Again, it is complicated. He is the oldest of us, the most terrible creature to walk the earth apart from the devil himself. His blood runs within us, he pulls at our strings, his rule is…instinctual. I physically cannot hate him.” The men were aghast, disgust written across their faces, whittled into the creases that appeared upon their foreheads.

“So, we…expose them.” Reid said seriously, “We find proof and push them into the light and the city will be safe, you will be safe!”

Hal chuckled softly, “I thought like that once. But humanity is not ready, and it would bring the ghosts and the werewolves who are mostly innocent under scrutiny. It would be a war that would spread across the globe like the plague and one that humanity may not win against if the vampires were to band together.”

“There is really nothing we can do?” Drake asked softly, stroking the side of his now empty glass.

“I am afraid not. It is safer this way.” Hal muttered, “I can control them until…well until I no longer care to do so I suppose. Besides, that man…Conway was a message I could not read until now. If he was to leave a councilman out on the street there is no telling who in power may be a vampire. He was a message to gloat, for it seems Jacob had been busy sticking his finger in every pie.” Hal pinched his nose, “It’s going to be a lot of work.”

“We can help you with that at least you self-sacrificing bastard.” Jackson said, leaning forward his whiskey sloshing from his glass.

“I am afraid I cannot allow that Jackson.” Hal murmured, standing from his seat, he grabbed his coat.

“What?”

“We will not see each other after tonight. You will tell them that Albert Flight died tonight, Jacob Hardwicks murdered him.” Hal said, putting his jacket on with the shush of fabric.

Drake stood knocking his seat to the ground, “Flight—”

Hal pivoted from the door in a swirl of grey fabric, “There is no Flight, Sargent. I have answered your questions and now I must leave. It is safer for you if you continue as if you never knew of our existence. For me to see you again would bring every vampire to your door. You would die and I cannot allow that stain upon my conscious. I bid you goodnight.” he said with finality as he stepped towards the door.

“Yorke!” Jackson called out, giving him a pause, Hal looked over his shoulder, staring into the room with the three men, “I am proud to call you my friend brother.” The American said as he stood and held out his hand.

Hal took it, shaking the man’s warm hand and he was pulled into a rough embrace, “Thank you Homer. I am sorry it ended this way.” Hal said as Jackson pulled away, his eyes suspiciously wet.

Drake stood from his seat and stomped his way over to Hal, standing before him for a moment, the crags of his face catching in the shadows. He said not a word, but the muscles in his face twitched as if he would. Instead, his arms shot out towards Hal picking him up into a bone-crushing hug.

“We are too,” Reid said, standing from his seat he clapped Hal on the shoulder as his feet touched the ground, “Take care of yourself.”

Hal smiled as he straightened his rumpled clothes, warmth filled his chest, blooming from his sluggish heart like syrup through his veins, “You too.”

Hal left the station and never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! I hope you enjoyed this wee story! 
> 
> There is an epilogue that I am editing at the moment! But if you don't want to read it that's fair. You can stop here and pat yourself on the back. You made it! Congrats and thanks for reading! 
> 
> Drop a comment if you want to chat theories or just talk about the story!


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

**121 Years Later**

“Well that was a…heavy ending.” Alex breathed, her eyes glued to the rolling credits, melted chocolate gathered at the corners of her mouth as she sagged into the couch.

“Ye tha was absolutely crackers, tha poor inspecta.” Tom muttered shoving another handful of chips into his mouth.

Hal stood abruptly from the couch, “It is fiction. I’m going to clean the kitchen.” He said striding into the kitchen, the door left swinging in his wake.

Alex and Tom shared a look, “Wot’s his problem?”

“I dunno.” Alex shrugged in response, licking the chocolate off her lips, “Should we talk to him?”

Tom frowned, “Do ya think…”

“What?”

“Nah forget it. Let’s talk to him. Obvious somethin’s eatin at ‘im.” he said, dragging himself from the couch.

The two, as they came into the kitchen were met with the most peculiar sight. Hal was leaning up against the sink, sunk to the floor like a child, cradling a pair of marigolds in his hands. Tears streaked down his face, from red puffy eyes and plunked against the bright yellow plastic. 

“Hal?” Alex questioned, taking a cautious step into the room.

“Wass going on mate?” Tom asked, watching from the door as their friend pulled himself up weakly to his feet, clambering for purchase against the cabinetry.

“Sorry, I—I did not realise that the show would have such an effect on me.” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he palmed the tears from his cheeks.

“It’s alright Hal, don’t worry. You’re allowed to be invested in a show.” Alex said with a little laugh, coming up and rubbing his arm in comfort. A smile playing at her lips.

He smiled in reply, “Yes, I suppose.”

“There’s more to it than tha Alex.” Tom said, gesturing to Hal, “I ain’t even seen ya like this mate not even over one of ya books. Did ya know ‘im? I mean he’s real, isn’t he?”

Hal snorted, Tom was always too perceptive for his own good, “Yes I knew Inspector Reid.”

“Oh, Hal don’t tell me…” Alex trailed off, her eyes wide as she stared at him tears gathering in her own eyes.

Hal’s eyes grew wide, at the sight of Alex’s spiraling thoughts behind her eyes, “Jesus Christ Alex. I know what you’re thinking—”

Alex exploded, “It was you wasn’t it?!”

“No! Christ! No!” Hal placated holding up his hands towards the shaking woman, “That’s just—Christ Alex…”

“Look ya can’t blame me for thinkin’.’” she said a blush blooming on her cheeks.

Tom rolled his eyes, “Not every serial killer is a vampire Alex.” he said.

“Ah, but Jack was a vampire.” Hal said, smiling wetly.

“Wait! You knew Jack the Ripper?” Alex asked aghast.

Hal nodded, folding the marigolds next to the sink with care, he turned back to the two with folded arms as he leaned against the sink, “Yes I knew him. I killed him actually.”

“You _killed_ Jack the Ripper.” Tom whispered, his mouth agape in shock, and eyes as wide as saucers.

“Yes, he was making a right mess of things, attracting too much attention. Reid was too close. But that…ending. It made me realise I never told Reid and so it…it is likely that he spent the rest of his life believing that he had failed.” he said scrubbing his hands through his hair, so it stood up in messy tuffs.

“Hal that’s…it’s not like you could have told him, he would have arrested you for murder I assume.” Alex reasoned, patting his arm. The placating gesture did very little for his fraying nerves.

He laughed it was a hollow broken thing that hiccupped past his teeth, “I don’t think you quite understand Reid and I were _friends_ once. He knew what I was in the end and I had the opportunity to tell him.” he sighed.

“Wait…” Tom began, “Reid knew ‘bout vampires? Doesn’t say tha in the show.” confusion knitted his brows together.

Alex snorted, covering her mouth with her hand, “Tom I don’t think the man ever told anyone, they would have put him in the looney bin!”

“Quite.” Hal agreed with a smile.

“So…if you were friends with him are you in the show? Like are you a character?” Alex’s face brightened at the thought a smile upon her lips.

The laugh this time was genuine and surprised him as it bubbled up from his chest, “Yes, actually. I’m there for a bit, not sure why either it’s not like I—well, either way, it is not an entirely accurate representation but…well you can’t expect a flight of fancy to be accurate.”

“Well stop ya babbling and tell us who are ya?” Tom asked as he jumped onto the counter and swung his legs, each kick of the cupboard caused Hal to wince.

He shrugged, “Why don’t you guess?” he said with a smirk.

“Ach! You, Hal Yorke, are no fun!” Alex exclaimed punching him lightly on the air as he feigned hurt, “Give us a hint why don’t ya?!”

“Alright! Jesus woman I’ll give you a hint if only to save myself from more pain,” he chuckled, “I worked for H Division.”

“You were a police officer!” Tom exclaimed arms flapping about as if he were some large flightless bird instead of a man as Alex jumped up and down a grin upon her face.

Hal took in the sight unable to stop himself from grinning, “Yes for a time.”

“Oh man you were Drummond, weren’t you? Bit of a stick in the mud. Seems like ya!” Alex cried, clicking her fingers, “Did I guess it right?”

Hal shook his head.

“Nah, nah Alex you’re thinking too now Hal. This was like _the past._ He was Thatcher for sure. Traditional policing, rough and tumble. That’s gotta be it.” Tom said, nodding to himself.

“Wrong again,” Hal said with a smile.

Both paused frowning at him with child-like petulance.

Hal sighed, “Fine.” he bemoaned with a small conspiratorial smile, “I was Albert Flight.”

“No way!” Alex said her voice tinny with surprise, “The Irish wee fella!?”

“The very same.”

“Wait you worked for tha git Shine?” Tom asked, leaning forward with a frown, his feet kicking harder into the wood.

“Ah, see again. Inaccurate. Tom would you stop that!” Hal hissed; Tom mumbled an apology but stilled his feet. Hal sighed but continued, “I never worked for Shine. He did eventually end up working for me though.”

“Working for you?” Tom asked.

“Yes, well he was a vamp—”

“Wait!” Alex interrupted, “Tom we’ve forgotten the most important thing!”

“Wha?” he asked his bushed eyebrows raised.

“Hal who was Jack the Ripper?” she asked, curiosity radiating off her in waves.

They both stared as he smiled and in bemusement he replied.

“No one who should be remembered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! It's done. I'm happy with this story if I'm honest. Love a bit of identity reveal! Always great fun! 
> 
> THANK YOU for reading this little dip into Ripper Street. 
> 
> (Also Flight should have gotten a redemption arch just saying...)


End file.
